The soul can replenish itself
If you let it.

You must water
Her
Everyday,
First thing in the morning. Early
With the sun
As they tickle the clouds
A gentle
Pink.

You must give her space
To breathe.
But the inhales
Must be
Full.
Nothing around her waist.
Nothing touching
That soft,
Supple stomach until it expands
To the tips
Of its reach.

There must also be room
For exhalation
Enough time for
powerful
Transverse muscle web
To steady itself.

Each cubic centimeter
Of the spongey
Spacious lungs must hold

That emptiness

For seconds,
For careful considerations of the ends and the beginnings of things. 

Then, you must nourish her.

She needs colors,
Textures,
Taste.
She needs to eat boredom. To wash
And wax, and dress, and redress and undress

To step into something equal parts
Glitter and
Dough.

There must be bananas in every smoothie.
There must be soft aches behind each scapula
From lifting and dangling her weight above
The earth.

Then,
And only then
Can she start to grow herself back.

Will it begin to fill dark cavities
Will it begin to find the small pockets above rocks where the fish rest.
Will it be ready to stretch out past itself.

It might even touch other souls.
(Before this, they are invisible)
(Before this, she’d pass right through them)
(She could sense and see but not touch or taste them)

But as the colors re-state,
The vibrations lift,
The weather shifts—
They become tactile,
And her grip becomes stronger
More skilled.

So remember this—

A soul can replenish itself,
If you let it.
(But this is no accident)