Passion

is in your blood

floating to your fingertips

flushing your face

changing currents

and

catapulting you to dizzying rage

circulation low

under the dreary sky

then circulation high

above the hurricane

it escapes

in unpredictable ways

an argument

when you were too tired to speak

or a drawing

when you didn’t have the will

to sign your name

it’s moving inside

like a river

that flows upstream

or a rainstorm

that rises

when the grass is too green.