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Between these lines |
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in the sea of my doing |
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I anchor in you. |
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We write our relationship |
| I plumb the unknown of me |
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and explore the width of my mind. |
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Through this horizontal landscape |
| on the reins of language |
| my pen tills my soil |
| searching for you |
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making holy these moments. |
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Here I can spout and shout |
| anything unacceptable |
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to the rules mine or their's. |
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I scrape the brittle bone |
| of my hurt |
| remember the salutations |
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of yesterday. |
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I lay open my innards |
| without fear of infection |
| I feel the pain |
| that has incubated there |
| in my years of resistance |
| and the decades of my battle |
| with the truth I feared as a predator. |
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Instead I found gossamer sparrows |
| in the moments |
| I left time |
| and found my soul |
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in Now. |
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