if my shallow framing
of your truth
requires more
than a little readjusting,
bend
the borders
and step forth
to correct
me
where arrogance
gets the best
of me.
shadow work
Footprints
were you to
believe,
could you trust
enough
to know you’re
loved
in ways no one
else has
been?
and though you’ve shouldered
life’s pain
the marks you’ve
left on the
map
are not
coffee stains.
past countless corners
turned,
through the filthiest
years i’ve
learned..
that wiping hands
on my jeans
never
leaves them clean.
“whatever you
do..”
she said,
“don’t get stuck in
their heads,
why crave such possessive
attention?”
“don’t need to inhabit
dead space..”
she said.
how can you recall
the dates?
that blend into one
clanging
clock–
atop its ashy
mantle..
pleading to be
unwound
by next set of hands
to find it
making
that ungodly
sound.
swift
to speak..
but slow to
love..
when push comes
to blush
and the game
proves
hard
i crumble like
a tower of
cards.
kisses
in waves,
a riptide
like blades,
tossed then dragged
to the bottom
where unseen and
unsafe.
they said
i’d dreamt you
better than i knew
myself,
though i’ve held you
real enough
to sense your
absence
from my book
shelf.
startled
by the sound
of my
imagination,
woken by a feeling
i assumed had
passed,
taken with a sight
that refuses
to let
go,
settled by the voice
of someone i
used to
know.
shadow passenger
on train
nods as he
passes
by,
i’ve never caught
his face,
although we’ve
met eye to
eye.
hands in the garden 
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