Obsession
Heaven isn’t the word for it, really. It isn’t big enough for that
but it bursts from my body like agate from a rock
splits me into simmering shards, hands, lips, ribs;
still too big for these bones to hold
too wild for these human lungs to release.
Sacred, somehow, tied to the stars, all
harnessed energy, a holy bottle-rocket.
I am bigger than Jupiter
humming with her storms.
Was this all I was
born for? I think that I could see a way to believing
that I was designed for love.
Daisy Harris
Daisy Harris Poetry 