15 February 2021

The Drawbridge

On either side of a memory,
I wait
until the drawbridge closes
and the gap is filled--
without pleasantries,
without remorse,
just a pure, seamless destination
in front and behind--
from one town to the next,
and we can travel freely.
Until that bridge
serves its purpose,
I'll wait.
Between black and white,
between life and death,
I'll wait.

08 February 2021


the light isn't coming back on--
too much trust for something
with invisible wires.
too much honesty for something
that pretends 
to be the sun.

I don't think I'm brave.
before your eyes knew me,
you thought I was--
skating into each tiny dream
on ice as black as fear...

when the light burnt out
I went to bed and
never got up
because it never came back.

a slight glimmer came, once,
a trick from my window--
or from my eye.

optic nerves, invisible wires tied so gently,
mapped by God and science...

too much trust for something
that is not guaranteed.

before your eyes knew me,
I philosophized.
I evangelized.
but then the ice cracked beneath my feet,
and I plunged
with you above me, 
so far away,
light-years away