I'd been afraid the light'd gone out,
and we'd missed our shower of sparks.
But, it's as if the many tiny bits of warmth
you gathered all winter
and sheltered under protective wings through the dark
have finally
caught and lit and made this heart
into a hearth.
I consider the layers and layers of shielding, blanketed,
wrapped protectively around the point source of pain.
What once was sharp has been covered over - it is now smooth and blunt.
Beautiful as it may be, it is not alive,
and these blankets are taking up space.
I begin with the outermost layer,
polishing my way toward the center.
It will take as long as it takes
to thank each for its service,
contemplate its beauty in response to pain,
to say to each one,
I care about this suffering,
and ask permission to see what lies beneath.
I've been reading about how trauma
cracks the egg of our heart.
We rush to seal it off: to prevent breaking,
leakage, but also,
hatching.
My love
My love flies on silent owl wings,
anticipating a return to her nest,
Long through the dark night she has waited
patiently keeping the secret
of where she's hidden herself and her child.
Her voice clear at last where was once only cloud
She questions the howling winds:
Whose voice is that?
Whose?
Whose?
Not mine. Voices of trapped ghosts.
Winds are stilled. The seal is lifted.
She descends through the fog, silent wings spurring the mist into ribbons -
banners that fly in the name of 'Alive'.
Her daughter will only hatch on her feet.
Reunited,
they are the same warmth in the night,
becoming each other;
Phoenix-like
incubated in darkness
reborn in clear moonlight.
Love, and
I am,
and I love.
I am love.
My love has been waiting for me.
Have you ever played that game?
he asked, while writing on my back.
We were curled in bed together.
You trace letters on somebody's skin
And they try to guess your message.
I giggled, Yeah, it's hard! Like a secret, even when you know it's there.
He began again, enunciating with his fingers, pressing each letter of my name.
Before, it could have been: connecting my freckles, ABCs, etc,
but with my name, I felt the intention.
Somewhere overhead in the night,
the unseen stars swirl around the Earth
observing paths familiar to them
riding and writing the dome of the sky
still being discovered by us with delight
How do I tell you the secrets
that I won't say out loud to myself?
My heart melts quietly in your arms, in hopes you will not notice.
My eyes reflect the silent stars; I dare look up
while you plant what could be a constellation
of gentle kisses on my forehead, here.
and here, and here, and here
and here
and here
thoroughly, methodically, sweet.
What are we telling ourselves?
What are we willing to hear?
Close your eyes.
Let me bring your soft face to my lips
under the winking stars.
Tell me when you get the message I keep from myself.
Let me write it again and again,
spelling it out on your skin
until you feel it, too.
And then I'll know it's true.
Tiger, Tiger, sopping wet
Cold & dark as you can get
Year is over, let it go
Through the water, like a stone
