---

∴

it’s possible that relationships
are not as complicated
as all that.

 

sometimes you talk
and your words
are falling foreign objects
to the ear

and you go
like a scolding bird,
unheard.

 

sometimes you laugh
at unfunny things
and alienate the doer of the deed.

and you go
like an ass
hee hawing
and blind.

 

sometimes you’re homesick
for a place you’ve never been
and are sobered to know
you cannot travel there,
together.

and you go
like a deflated balloon,
caught on a branch
and confused.

 

sometimes you know
this is all okay,
and you’d rather those things
than no things at all,

 

and you go
holding each other
to ride out this time
with whatever grip
you can find.

∴

 

 

---

 

---

∴

i have pondered trust
like mercury

as it gains and whittles
in inconstant forms,

never lessening,
always dispersing,

to collect again
in momentary pools.

there do we gain a glimpse

of what a solid metal
might be

before it beads away
in bounding bubbles

and rests
in hidden corners.

what a culpable beast,

who can shed the light,
gauge the heat,

and poison
if taken wrong.

∴

 

 

---

 

---

∴

is it better to keep it all unsaid?

has my every word
corroded the seal
of safety
we had built so solidly about us?

 

have they leaked
like trojan horses,
with good intent and sound construction,
towering still,
to deliver destruction?

 

momma always said,
“if you can’t say something nice…”

 

i should have listened.
i should have heard.

instead,
i talked my way
out of your arms
and into the world

who continues to question.

 

we call and answer continuously,
and with all the noise,
presume
we must be doing something grand.

but it’s just noise –

all of it –

 

and in the end
has it even moved us
a bit
from the place
whereon we stand?

∴

 

 

---

---

∴

when it breaks,
you don’t hear a crack.
there is no thunder in the sky
nor fissure in the black.

it’s a sit-down with the in-laws
and the hors d’oeuvres left untouched.

it’s intentional disregarding
of photo books, keepsakes,
and such.

when it breaks,
the man on the moon
finds himself
strange,
and silent,
unafraid of the dark
and lack of gravity.

 

unforgivably weightless,
at last.

 

when it breaks,
the angels hold their breath
and keep the clouds
from coming in.

 

it’s time to see clearly, now.

 

when it breaks,
fierce blue streaks
flash from former gentle eyes.
how quickly the loved
can become the despised,

when it breaks.

 

but hold.

 

behold.

 

i’ll not paste you with cliché
nor soothe you with saccharine,

for when it breaks,
better takes a bit,

but it comes.

∴

 

 

---

 

---

∴

when that veil lays long upon your brow
and conceals
even your features to me;

when Mars lays low in the Western sky
and calls me too,
to dream,

i am glad that i said,
“goodnight,”

and gave a kiss upon that cheek,
the scruff and sweet,
that i can barely now recall.

 

you do not hear the words
though still they’re nightly uttered,

you do not see the light
through tinted windows shuttered,

but still,
i spoke them.

and still,
a lamp will burn.

i cannot follow where you go,
when slumber steers such singular courses
as our fates are,

 

and so much more,
i am glad i said,

“goodnight.”

∴

 

 

---

 

---

∴

fifteen years ago,
on the Fourth of July
i found myself,
found,
‘neath the sparks in the sky.

you put a ring in my hand,
asked if it’d fit on my finger,
and though the odds were against us,
my heart did not linger.

please don’t say,
“i got my way”
and that love is solely my condition.

don’t make me a promise
to break hard upon us
and marry me solely to submission.

 

here’s what i know,
from all those fifteen years ago:

sparks still fly in the sky.

 

are you willing
to hold their heat in your heart,
and me,
shining back
in your eye?

∴

 

 

---

 

---

∴

one thing
i might do
can affect the whole
lot of you,

and by the gifts
you’d have brought
my striving ceases,
my aches forgot.

so why then,
souls,
do we withhold
the kindest words
that we’ve been told?

to keep our strength?
to get our due?
i can’t help me
by helping you?

pretty fishy,
i’ve got to say.
and i’m not sure
we like living this way.

what satisfaction
has the good man gained
by leaving his brothers
banned and shamed?

more grub on the platter,
more beer in the stein,
are all indigestible
sans salt in the brine.

∴

 

---

∴

i believe you can retreat
from points of no return.

i believe anything can come back
from being too far gone.

i root for prodigal sons
and their father’s who stare patiently –
achingly –
out of windows,
wondering where they are.

 

i know there are perfect storms,
and random acts of kindness,
and that love really does cover
a multitude of sins.

 

i believe in being autonomous enough
to not own your imperfections,
and imperfect enough
to not be impervious to them.

 

but i do not believe
that shame is a strategy,

nor is retribution a reward
for the right.

 

you can keep your comeuppances
and i’ll to my conscience
and cry out of love
in the night.

∴

 

 

---

 

---

∴

the comforts of quiet mornings
can mend the mightiest of yesterdays
and fortify the mind
as it hopes again
foolishly,
in today.

 

and isn’t that the only way to hope?

 

as a fool might?

 

in dawn and solitude,
we path through the impossible
and reason in the absurd,

and then,

see
steps in the insurmountable,
and rise
unscalable walls.

 

if it weren’t for a fool’s hope
and a vacant Love’s promise,

i think i would surely slip.
i think i would lose my grip.

but these things believed,
even foolishly so,
are food enough
for survival of flesh
and height of soul.

∴

 

 

---