taking hold by
letting go-
these knuckles
crave rest
from clutching
old blankets
so tight
to the chest.
shadow work
see you soon,
we said
and wept and
waved
as though we
were liars,
under the same
moon
we bask in
truth,
to the hum
of long distance wires.
the day won’t
die,
but you and i
might–
‘less we keep our ember
dancing bright,
guarding wick from
winds of
storm.
though always in
reverence
i’ve spoken your
name
too often in your
absence,
my
mythic
depictions
in front
of it crowds
only increase
friction–
and not the kind
that brings
us close.
a
tea
kettle
conversation
run out of
steam,
the coffee break
without
cream..
stirred into cup then
sipped
to
keep lips
from bleeding.
our height penciled
on wall,
just scuffs where
we fell..
while
carefree,
and if i don’t
blink
i see the past
so clearly
but not
me.
not ready to
thaw
but dear sun’s
beating
down
upon shell
and i’m sweating
now
through my cold
casing.
each memory’s
a crack
into something much
deeper,
trapped frozen
in ether
holds a heart
of knots
the mind can’t
unkink–
despite what its
clever self
thinks.
i’m the worst
pretender..
defender of
truth–
in light of my own
mirror
you watch each word
whispered,
and each time
i kiss her
to remind myself
i’m living
in
the now.
are you summer?
or just the
flash
of something
warmer?
skin still craves its
momentary
burn,
as if
the exposed one
never learns.
hands in the garden 
You must be logged in to post a comment.