I've been tracing the same worn groove in the floor where the light hits the wall like it's begging for more than the silence that settles like silt after rain a cartography drawn in the language of pain There's a moth in my chest beating wings against glass pressing hard toward a brightness it can't seem to pass through the amber-thick membrane of ordinary days where I'm present but haunting — half-lost in the haze And I know — god, I know this isn't all there is to feel 'cause something in the marrow speaks in tongues too sharp to be ideal, too ancient to be accident, too burning to be still There has to be more than this ache without name more than weathering weather and staying the same more than masking the frequency under the noise more than silence dressed up in the costume of poise there's a door I can feel but can't find in the dark and this hollow was never supposed to be art, it was always a hunger, a compass, a call there has to be more, there has to be more, there has to be more than this all I have memorized mornings like hostages do catalogued coffee, the grey, the breakthrough of light that arrives like it owes me a debt then retreats before I've even learned to forget There are people who carry their lives like a song but my hands keep on holding a key that belongs to a room I've not entered, a version unmade I keep standing outside in the sun and the shade And I know — god, I know the world is wide enough to hold a self I haven't excavated yet, a vein of something bright and cold beneath the sediment of years that told me: shrink, comply, grow old There has to be more than this ache without name more than weathering weather and staying the same more than masking the frequency under the noise more than silence dressed up in the costume of poise there's a door I can feel but can't find in the dark and this hollow was never supposed to be art, it was always a hunger, a compass, a call there has to be more, there has to be more, there has to be more than this Maybe restless is just what it feels like to know that you're built for a current that hasn't come yet that the wound isn't wound, it's a window left open, that the wanting's not weakness, it's it's the truest thing left There will be more than this ache without name more than weathering weather and staying the same I can feel it the way that I feel my own pulse, the way roots feel the rain before rain there is more, god there's more, I just haven't arrived, I just haven't arrived yet I'm still alive
