Nolcha Fox
- Feb 17
- 1 min read

Whirl and Swirl

My questions are exhausted. I’ve pursued them on foot and with wings. Those questions of how to make sense of the chaos. 

I’ve hemmed them in with guardrails, barriers, rituals, and traditions. So much whirl and swirl, particles of dust that clog my nose and throat.

Never have my questions confessed their answers.

Perhaps I’m just a crumbling cell in a beautiful wound I call the universe.

Perhaps I just need to stop. Stop and love what I don’t understand.

published on Write Under the Moon

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