burst pipe in the
basement
floods a living room
grown stagnant,
photos float apart
as if to
flee..
a cigar box gorged with
dust and tears
long buried
in me.
letting go
’twas upon crooked
hill
that our house
leaned
as though to watch
us leave
for flusher
scenery,
as cracks turn
break
and paint becomes
flakes
may we never
glance
back
at its sorry
old state.
tempting as
it may
be
to take your
hand
i’ll leave it
by your
side,
to share it
with
whomever you
wish
while i
stand aside.
we licked the
tears
from each other’s
photo
then wiped the dust
from ducts of
our eyes
and shut a tattered
album
reaching for our
camera
with a spark of
inspiration.
tilt the compass,
run towards
us..
arms
motioning-
inviting those lost
into their
clasp
to defend
all..
from decays
of past.
this isn’t down
or up..
but some other
direction
i’ve never been pulled
towards before,
no longer hanging loose
or stuck to any
ceiling-
losing hold
on familiar feelings.
i’ve tapped into
something
that i can’t
unsee,
despite exhaustive
attempts at
relief,
i’ve wandered in
somewhere
a soul can’t
escape–
so it’s best i stay lost
and create.
in
a river,
laid out for your
current
to claim my frame
without
fight,
drag me wherever
needed-
don’t need a
reason.
your eyes like
stars
glow
near then far–
vanishing into
the night,
i caught them
once..
then let them
go,
for fear of dimming
their light.
’twas twice
as hard
to let go this
time,
yet now we’re
hands
free,
had we not, today
who would
we be?
hands in the garden 
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