not
without
some reckless, broken
fear, doubt
self but clout
a nuance of the viral
so many spiral
signs
or more like meaning in
whistle lines
birds on pine
sorrow speak: dove
ego peak, love
in crescendo as
puddles well, swell
above
no floor too low
through which for you to go, fall
heart/wall
how to place, erase trace
start – go
again, crudely so
fashioned as with pins
to the buttress of your own
stone
iron smelt in forge
cast to shape for, born
that without form
might keep the harm
arm, at length
strength
to be
no longer beneath, free
something like the sun
more than bare teeth
head dead, weight
what comes, wait
hope for new days, blue
fate
that might see through to
you
and all that comes to mean
heard, seen
not to be confused
with used, cut
bruised but
clean
just another trick of the mind
find
divine in the divide
your eyes
wide – rapture
glowing, your bright mind
and I, write
try to capture
knowing I could never say, convey
the depth of you
or what you do
to me
in any way
for there are shadows crawling
vistas sprawling
and a million ways to say their name
boundless stars that burn
around which planets turn
in each a story
ruin and glory
just the same
each piece of dirt
has value, worth
each drop of water
has a place
each ray of light
each day, each night
every time and every space
but
none of that really seems all that relevant
when I look deep into your eyes
or
when I turn to see your silhouette beside me, a smile on your face or even just a solemn expression reflecting the depth of your thoughts
from scratch and dirt
we crawled to where we are
we are the children of flies, dirt, mud caked on the dry skin of decay
we are hope
dreams
tomorrow and yesterday
in the echo of the present moment
there have been moments before
and there will be moments that come to pass
with or without us
yet
this moment is ours
to sit and simply place our hands on top one another, a blessing
leaning, I place my ear to your shoulder, chest, thigh
embrace
beyond the physical like
a wave rolling back to the sea
the wind as it settles at the edge of the rolling field
roots
grateful the wet and welcoming soil
worth
each precious second
you grace my presence, body mind or soul
always, a place for you to be
as you wish to be
that we might at last find
home
or something close
enough to rest and find
relief
Objects, and the Distance Between Them 
👍👍
LikeLike