(1) mine

Our spirit belongs to our spine
It condenses the past
To flood the present
a hand over
on what is
Mine.
Mine:
Mine!

A moment of ecstasy,
A membrane void of time,
cells with memory
If you touch yours,
I feel mine.

Our spirit guides our spine
A hand in the now,
More than refined.

Our spirit beats the bone
Of courage,
A virtue that needs no rhyme,
Only the seed of rhythm–
Divine?