let love be enough
it’s the grace you write about .
it’s the hands that you’re forgetting .
not a many things so sweet as
the touch that’s meant for mending .
I can no longer tell you, ‘I love you’
but I can no longer forget
days when you said things with care
moments you thought so rare
came so naturally to you and me .
a shame that it’s all I can give to you
a memory for when you feel lonely .
a short word is the only
offering .
but let it be enough for now .
I hope it helps you see how
this is not the end
as all hearts will mend -
yours and mine and those that know
that love is all we have to show
in the end .
2 of 20 dreams
I know I shouldn’t keep it in – but I do.
so difficult! as a little birdie tells me everything
and oh! what a pesky one he is.
and/but/yet I can’t lie to you -
best to tuck this away for another day
when we meet up in our afterlives,
in the afternoon when the swollen sun rises up.
yes, then I’ll tell you in a helpful way.
You might cry.
I will surely cry as I do.
but you (should) know I meant to do you right.
yes, we’ll patch it up later
when we’re finished sewing our hearts back into our chests.
untitled
I’m sorry for the twenty times I told you I love you, dear.
and when I said we’d meet again noontime,
I’m sorry I took the train instead and
I missed your stop and I’m sorry.
I’m sorry.
You hated when I said that
and I’m sorry.
whisper
why don’t we whisper our words today -
you can take out on me in a hushed tone
all the sour feelings and crumpled bodies we think we’ve made ourselves into
…
yes, why don’t we whisper our thoughts today
while our minds are already edging eagerly over the rails,
while we can briefly keep our sanity
…
for with a quick snap, we could fall
and you would do things you wouldn’t do
if you had whispered
…
so, come here, my love, and tell me
what you think of me
however vile or vain or insulting
…
if you whispered
I could take it
traded coffee for tea
it’s amazing what I took from you
when I did not want anything from you.
the first sentence was foretelling of the rest of our lives.
it’s like we’ve come full circle now, isn’t it?
I wonder if you see that…
I’m not so sure that you do
and I’m not so sure that I can show you.
I. gave. you. endless possibilities.
I gave you me and you gave me nothing of you.
for that I am eternally grateful.
eternally scarred
that I gave you all my pride, gift-wrapped in silk
and tied with a ribbon of red and gold
and you gave me not an ounce,
not a crumb.
I made of you all my most special and indescribable thoughts.
I made of you all that my imagination could make of someone I didn’t know.
…
eternally grateful.
eternally scarred.
…
we’ll leave it at that.
to my little railbird,
It’s time to be honest
because I always flip the cards.
This was the blind bet -
and I, the player that you sought.
But, it is time to let it go.
So, let it go.
Sure, I may have hidden behind the deck,
but I never wiped off my sly grin.
…I’m sorry if that stings…
But, in every round, I am the same.
The silent basta, queen of spades -
yes, I may have brought this to its grave.
But, when it comes to this,
the end, your folly and your shame,
you’ll see that I never changed -
I only kept my face
because that’s how I play the game.
for your own good
I wonder how you
feel you can let such beauty expire -
Seeing it only as a limp fish
Newly dead, pallid on the sand.
Selfishly, your doors close out possibility
And you let slip away a now dying epiphany
As if it sat stolid in the maker’s heart.
Yet, if you ever tried and misunderstood,
No one could rightfully condemn you
For it is only through the viewer’s eyes
That matter exists. Therefore, I dare you,
though you wish to let this fold in on itself
like every sagging precursor, I dare you
to hold onto this one – let it fester in your wounds
Until the inaudible whispers that veil agitation
Become an intolerable scream in your ears.
Until you grasp purpose and comprehend art.
And though a sort of wanton depravity
Marked your previously licks
And though you squirm and wince to find a pulse in it –
finger to wrist – make sense of this.
only He knows
Wrestling with a band of armies
to find that there’s only one.
And if it’s not Him I’m fighting with or for
then who are you to bring me down?
This is the argument of angels –
tear me apart and take my heart.
This is the fight for demons –
not dogmatic preachers, sweating and pounding pulpits
Their eyes pierce my ashamed soul
and their sacraments chain my body to the earth
as if God is no better than their silken robes.
Earthly things – all of them.
How could we attempt to understand
the greatness of the unseen?
Now, do not twist my words
you two-tongued thieves of the Book -
Come to understand
what you’ve misunderstood:
that love is not a contract
nor is it a curse.
Peace is the higher plane
better to be attained than idealized
in the colored window panes of your cathedral.
generations
Ours is a distant love -
appreciation from afar.
Ours is a sincere hug -
a feeling in the heart.
A song unsung for each
diverse visage and
each shared trait
…all two…
Ours is a tie of blood -
an altercation
scripted with cold covered words -
crafted by resolute minds.
Ours, a tale untold -
a rip in time
that’s irreparable,
but understood.
Ours, like a pinpricked finger –
finds thanks in consequence
and hope in familial eyes
Ours… is a distant love.
“love to the loveless shown”
A hardened extern, You walk
with a leading hand,
a conflicted heart.
I’m not here to criticize -
Only words that pierce
fly by the arrow of concern.
You are a man that
lives on the opposite
end of the same scale.
You are a man worn by
blistering dialogue -
The very words that to me
were believed nonexistant.
If I am to love, I love
with passion, without reserve.
I’m not giving up on
what makes the heart
the center of that love.
Somewhere between birth
and meeting, your heart turned.
But still I see you in the sunset
and in the sunrise. I wait
to meet you in the middle
to show you what the world
has shown me. I long to be
the one to soften your heart.
