Dear You,
[I suppose this is "Without You"].
Between sky and earth I quilt my skin with the navy and crimson patchwork of my grandmother's hands. November invites Herself into my lungs. Her nakedness pierces my throat--expands the walls of my chest. Her reality is familiar. I am grateful to experience Her alone because she has only ever known me as lonely.
I rest my head against the iron rungs of the three-flight staircase. The naked lightbulb of my third story solace illuminates the freckles of my right arm.
This is my vulnerability.
I was twenty years old when I fell in love with you. I fought the night with eager eyes as I listened to you sigh off to sleep. My lips blossomed against your skin: You were oxygen. I used to compose you into cursive letters, engage you with stories [we would always end up together].
My trees are grown now.
My face is composed of new shapes.
I fall asleep to the sound of transfixed stars.
Sometimes,
[In the still state
Between Asleep
And Awake]
You are vivid.
I memorize you for a moment--
Some figment of a translucent
Memory.
Your lining fades
As I drift off to sleep
Or as I encounter
Awake.
All of this is beautiful.
When the sky is clear, I take walks alone. I enjoy my own company. Sometimes my solitude is so full it spills out over the sides of me. I have stopped apologizing for this. This is the way God made me.
When there are too many words,
It feels good to submit to the night and
Be still.
I have peace with my own thoughts.
I have peace with the absence of my thoughts.
I have peace with the absence.
I have made peace with
"Without You,"
Woke up one day
In completeness--
Oblivious to the slow
Transition of
My solidifying bones.
New frames bolster the once dilapidated house
[Whose song resounds inside my
Chest].
You broke a lot of things
When you went away walking.
But I am more than
Flesh.
