We live universally—
fighting our own verison
of the same battles
(where war wages on
uncertainty and excuses).
We are bound by
with flaws and expectations)
and soaked in good intentions
(like keroscene, ready to set
fire to the fields we dance in)
and we ache…
DH, I can’t thank you enough for changing my life.
it hurts, it hurts, it hurts.
late she settled down deep into her body, flexed her toes. tendons reached her soul, calmed the waters, shook the walls.
roll over, bambino, roll over.
Her knees were velvet when she prayed like the devil.
She slept where suns hid.
When Day revealed itself so did she.
You should have seen how steadily she shone
over your sun-stained gnomes that bowed down behind your home in either
or defeat. But you
you were in someone else’s bed. You did not look. She left
on your door mat that
blew away with moon-cut clouds that
whirled between ears of sinners
and her believers.
Her tears spilled with your all-night midnight coffee. Her head colds and skinned knees and overdue book fines overwhelmed the night sky.
She worked with you on your worst days
and against you
on your best.
You pulled on your snow boots
the morning she lay sick in bed.