is to walk your muddied fields, your lanes, leaning into the light.
mostly, my tongue leans to the good side,
casting out a mile long line of filament words, thin and flimsy.
did you hesitate? i wish it was enough;
a simple question reaching out its tips
to call them back
home. we soak them in, sustained.
you think you know the preparations you make.
i’ve missed you so much
lapping at the edges
and I can't stand here all day waiting
at the thought of missing you.
still, i see clearly what today will do for yesterday,
where the purpose that has been written,
the divine, shines through this final dwelling.
we sit in stillness.
walk in measured steps
searching, desperate amongst the garden stones.
a boulder of a day, they say.
a walk through the thickest fog.
in the beginning it was always there;
it chased me down in my dreams:
whose face had been freshly kissed enough
to measure? to fill? and then?
spill over. and then? repeat.
when all the serious questions get answered,
we are finally here in a room with no lies.
i need to tell you something
whispers when i have trouble remembering the dream you dream.
sometimes the words return.
the sound of your laugh
is enough. i lean into you
sometimes. i think i've forgiven you. sometimes
we buy back time by sacrificing