---

∴

look how the ground quakes…

you can see the waves in dirt,
swelling under planet skin,
like rippled mountains
and tides in the plaine.

 

feel these shivers
up through the leg
and stocked in the spine
like shock waves
and salsa swings
making everything in you

move.

 

move, with the earth’s
covered groove;

it is time.

it is time.

 

come out from your grave,
your closed, protective cave,
and sway,
rock,
like you were made.

remove the stone that seals you.
strip off what’s not the real you.

peeling bark,
standing stark,

looking at the ground
whereon you hold
a stiffened stance.

now feel these pulsing tremors

and dance.

∴

 

 

 

---

 

---

∴

there is a memory
that let’s me fall back into you
like an old coat
shaped to my form,

or is it my form
that’s been shaped
to it?

it is a memory
relived with present breath
and i wrap myself in it
like noses tucked under collars
and gloved hands on the knee.

see?

i still keep it with me.

my thumb on your lip,
the sweet, hushed rest
of my head on your chest,

and snow.

snow.

snow.

 

soft drops of silent knowing
that need no words to mark us.
just by standing ‘round
in their falling down

we left a trail –

tracks in an eternal winter –
tracing back,
tracing back

to long before we met;

where memory
of what we would become
was shaped

like a snowflake

formed

in fall.

∴

 

 

 

---

 

---

∴

when silence is deafening

you cannot hear beyond it:

those echoed pleas,

reverberating seas,

sloshing forever in your mind.

 

there’s a pressure in the air

that forebodes –

it begs to explode –

but nothing,

nothing comes.

 

it’s blue sky without birdsong.

it’s black sky without star.

it’s tide without shore,

it’s ship with no moor.

 

speak,
please,

speak, your heart,

loose your beautiful, treacherous truths,

but silent, remain here no longer,

for in solitude we rue.

 

and there is no life in that.

 

there is a chorus
to which we belong.

we can sing.

we can sing.

 

if you would but just

open your eyes,

take in the air,

widen your mouth,

and…

∴

 

 

---

 

---

∴

what if together
was a thing we could be?

what if the part
that splits apart
was mended
and thus,
us too?

what if the whole
of our days
filled the hole
of malaise
by good things
we do
for the other?

what if we looked without fault?
what if we heard what there was to be said?
what if we waited for things worth waiting?
what if we lingered too long in our bed?

what if we thought of the long run?
what if we dreamt of the goal?
what if we strove for each other?

what if?

what if?

what if what is
could be more than we’ve made it?

would you even try with me,
to know?

∴

 

---

 

---

∴

of all the things we carry
it is shared memory that weighs the most.

for better or worse,

the times we live
in company –
or survive in absence –

weigh brightly, like gold
or heft like an iron
and relentlessly hold.

and so i lean down,
though i know you’re deep sleeping,
and kiss your soft cheek
with a cover and tuck,

and remember the things i forgot in the day;
i whisper the things
i never did say.

and hope that tomorrow
i’ll make the scale sweeter
and balance with kindness
what neglectfulness bought.

cause all that i carry

i set down

at your feet

and say run with me,

that none of our fleeting,

saved days

be forgot.

∴

 

 

 

---

 

---

∴

it is without effort
that the sun makes a new day.

he comes round the edge of the world
like a nonchalant traveler
on an overrun route.

and we,
who strain in our miles
and course in conundrum,
might be lost completely
if not for his rising.

so light the path:
that long-drawn shadows
no longer shape monsters
in our way,
but give way,
and fade away,
like fallen leaves in autumn.

then come,

after all that dark and absent winter,
where still the soul sat in her ice-cold hold,
and draw out buds
on the branch left behind.

shine

with your facile heat
and careless glare,

and look,

as a new day of green
comes upon us.

∴

 

 

 

---

 

---

∴

and thus,
we enter
into this
silent
night.

when hope becomes a pensive promise
and i dare to think
that one day
i will wake
to find a love
that loves
in return.

i press my lips
to cloak the smile
of sanguine anticipation,
for all that we could become,
in one another’s
witness,

under the light
of a large,
white
star.

·

it is quiet here,
now,

while we wait.

·

what pain of labor will we endure?
what lengths of time
will pass ’tween each contraction?

years maybe,
i think.

until the pressure
of living
in these two strange and separate worlds
erupts in groan and celebration.

 

in that silent night,
when no matter in the world
matters so much
as the loved to the beloved,

the snow will fall
like
muted,
motionless
tears
of
joy

and the earth will spin without us.

∴

 

 

---

 

∴

there is a sea of self discovery
on the other side of sorrow.

 

it rocks the ship that sorrow is
and reminds us of a shore
that we might once again
moor upon
and feel the salted sands
of equanimity
and relief,

sturdy beneath our soles.

 

strong coast of smallest grit,
push back the craft we ride,
and warm us with the selfsame sun
that refined us in fire

when we were lost upon the waves.

∴

 

 

---

 

---

∴

some wounds

may not have been meant

to heal.

 

for

 

from their cracks

the water gets in

and goes deeper.

 

from their burns

we graft new skin

and seep poisons out.

 

from their scars

we keep record

of the lessons

that even failure taught.

 

·

some wounds

by never sealing

bear the gift

of perpetual healing.

∴

 

---