when winter
folds
and
spring behaves
i’ll be
at your door
but not a teardrop
before
you emerge from
grave.
shadow work
“we’ll step into
stars
and dread not their
brightness,”
said shielding
our eyes
for fear we may
like it.
an enchanting song
of slumber
found me
combating its tow,
unready
for surrender
into dreams
unknown.
must have read
this passage
a hundred
times
before what you
shared
sunk
in
like sun
into unsettled lake
at first throb
of dusk.
you helped me
disappear
when i couldn’t stand
my own sight,
so i danced
invisible
in time’s harsh
spotlight.
often, late
at night
i wait for you in
the corner of
my bed
as though you’ll
show
and guide me
by the hand
over to an open
window
to stare down
the moon together,
although i know
better.
“we’ll take it slow,”
you said
“let’s see where
this heads..”
sounded well and
wise at the
time,
but here you lay
tangled in
mine.
i watch as you
walk in,
it’s like seeing you again,
for the first
time
except you
see me
too,
seated in our corner
booth.
were we present
for the flash
or was it product
of a future
fading fast?
and would we know this
moment captured
well
or let it slip right
through our
grasp?
we commit our
sight
to the space
on wall
where family portrait
hung on for
dear
life
and let
go.
hands in the garden 
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