You may think that I have lost
touch with what it means to say
I love you
to you.
You may think it has become a reach
a plea
a desperate splaying of a
cavernous
and wounded
heart
to manipulate you into
wrapping me with
soothing arms.
You may think that it has
become an empty attempt
at chasing
fireflies of experience
past
to
hold them in a ball jar
and watch their glow
encapsulated.
You may think that it
carries not the fresh spring of
now, but
the tinny
metallic taste of water
held still too long.
You may think that it does not
run in field anew,
but lies in a huddled heap of sorrow,
anguished at moments past.
You may think that I have lost
touch with what it means to say
I love you
to you.
And even if all of those things are true.
There is more.
For the words I love you sing a
symphony of every longing
every joy
every hope
and dream
and laugh
and depth
and peace
that has been born, or has suffered between us.
It plays
a melody grounded in
roots, holding
all
of
those
things
from zygote to death thrall and
onto wings anew.
Beyond and because of
us.
A heart born a lifetime ago, reborn through devotion's pain.
Earning its patina and rooted
nonetheless,
takes flight.
I know
because
I love you.
Thursday, August 06, 2015
Tuesday, July 28, 2015
I love you
Her: I love you
Him: I love you
Her: I love you
Him: I love you. I love you. I love you.
Her: I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you.
Him: I love you
Her: I love you
Her: I love you
Him: I love you
Her: I love you. I love you. I love you.
Him: I love you
Her: I love you. Do you love me?
Him: I love you
Her: Do you still love me?
Him: I love you
Her: I love you. I love you
Her: I love you
Her: I love you
Her: Do you love me?
Him: Yes
Her: I love you
Him: I love you
Her: How can I know that you love me?
Him: I love you
Her: I love you
Her: I love you
Her: I love you
Her: I love you. Can you tell me that you love me?
Him: I love you
Her: Again?
Him:
Her: Please?
Him:
Her: Do you love me?
Him: I do
Her: I love you. Please tell me you love me.
Him:
Him:
Him:
Her: I love you
Him:
Him:
Her: I thought you loved me.
Him: I do
Her: Why don't you ever tell me?
Him: I did.
Her: I love you
Him:
Him:
Her:
Him:
Him:
Her: I love you
Him: I love you
Her: I love you
Him: I love you. I love you. I love you.
Her: I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you.
Him: I love you
Her: I love you
Her: I love you
Him: I love you
Her: I love you. I love you. I love you.
Him: I love you
Her: I love you. Do you love me?
Him: I love you
Her: Do you still love me?
Him: I love you
Her: I love you. I love you
Her: I love you
Her: I love you
Her: Do you love me?
Him: Yes
Her: I love you
Him: I love you
Her: How can I know that you love me?
Him: I love you
Her: I love you
Her: I love you
Her: I love you
Her: I love you. Can you tell me that you love me?
Him: I love you
Her: Again?
Him:
Her: Please?
Him:
Her: Do you love me?
Him: I do
Her: I love you. Please tell me you love me.
Him:
Him:
Him:
Her: I love you
Him:
Him:
Her: I thought you loved me.
Him: I do
Her: Why don't you ever tell me?
Him: I did.
Her: I love you
Him:
Him:
Her:
Him:
Him:
Her: I love you
Monday, June 08, 2015
A Small Frog
A small frog hopped through the yard. It could hear the water in the pond, the sounds of the insects. It could see the green leaves, and feel the moist dirt under its toes and the yellow sun soak into its gentle skin.
And then, the frog saw the most beautiful thing. The most amazing, intoxicating thing that it had ever seen. A flower, of pink and red and orange that sparkled in the sun. It sang a song so beautiful. It swayed in the sweet breeze and bent its crown low for the small frog. The frog wept and crawled beneath the petals, so grateful. It kissed the stem and breathed the fragrance into its lungs. The frog had never felt so good. He danced around the flower and wrapped his long, tender toes around it.
The small frog did that for a long, long time. The little frog began to fear that if it wandered from the flower, he wouldn't find his way back. Or, that it would be gone and he would never find it again. He missed something, but he couldn't remember what it was. So he stayed and breathed and breathed, and danced and danced.
Soon, the fragrance of the blossom became weaker, the song not as clear. He didn't understand, and he was sad. He realized that he wasn't twirling in glee anymore, but the beautiful flower hadn't changed at all.
The sun and the leaves and the breeze and the insects were still there.
Right there.
But the little frog chose the flower, and would not look at the other things as he hid in the flower's shade. The small frog didn't realize it, but his little body had become fragile. His green skin not as vibrant. His eyes not as clear.
The little frog had forgotten that the flowers are just part of all of what is beautiful in the yard, and that small frogs need all of the beautiful, not just the flowers.
Fearfully, he hopped to pond, and felt the sun pierce through him. He filled his small frog belly with insects and rolled in the lush, green grass.
It felt good.
And when he looked across the yard, he saw that the flower was still there. He could still hear its song, and smell its petals, and feel its beauty.
And he was glad.
And then, the frog saw the most beautiful thing. The most amazing, intoxicating thing that it had ever seen. A flower, of pink and red and orange that sparkled in the sun. It sang a song so beautiful. It swayed in the sweet breeze and bent its crown low for the small frog. The frog wept and crawled beneath the petals, so grateful. It kissed the stem and breathed the fragrance into its lungs. The frog had never felt so good. He danced around the flower and wrapped his long, tender toes around it.
The small frog did that for a long, long time. The little frog began to fear that if it wandered from the flower, he wouldn't find his way back. Or, that it would be gone and he would never find it again. He missed something, but he couldn't remember what it was. So he stayed and breathed and breathed, and danced and danced.
Soon, the fragrance of the blossom became weaker, the song not as clear. He didn't understand, and he was sad. He realized that he wasn't twirling in glee anymore, but the beautiful flower hadn't changed at all.
The sun and the leaves and the breeze and the insects were still there.
Right there.
But the little frog chose the flower, and would not look at the other things as he hid in the flower's shade. The small frog didn't realize it, but his little body had become fragile. His green skin not as vibrant. His eyes not as clear.
The little frog had forgotten that the flowers are just part of all of what is beautiful in the yard, and that small frogs need all of the beautiful, not just the flowers.
Fearfully, he hopped to pond, and felt the sun pierce through him. He filled his small frog belly with insects and rolled in the lush, green grass.
It felt good.
And when he looked across the yard, he saw that the flower was still there. He could still hear its song, and smell its petals, and feel its beauty.
And he was glad.
Saturday, May 02, 2015
In An Instant
I wonder when I'll go.
I wonder what it will feel like.
I wonder if time will pull me in a slow arc over
expectation of loss
and days and days of goodbyes
too painful to say out loud.
Or if I will be swept away in an instant
leaving only a heap
of the me that I thought I was.
I wonder if I'll know
that night meanders toward me and
if I'll welcome it with a peaceful resignation.
If I'll hold the hands of those who have
walked in my life's heart
and let their fingers slide slowly
off of mine.
Or if, like a whip, I will find myself
somewhere else
watching. Goodbye already outside of
my grasp.
I wonder what it will be like
when I go the way
that all have gone before.
One day
someday
one day
I'll know.
I wonder what it will feel like.
I wonder if time will pull me in a slow arc over
expectation of loss
and days and days of goodbyes
too painful to say out loud.
Or if I will be swept away in an instant
leaving only a heap
of the me that I thought I was.
I wonder if I'll know
that night meanders toward me and
if I'll welcome it with a peaceful resignation.
If I'll hold the hands of those who have
walked in my life's heart
and let their fingers slide slowly
off of mine.
Or if, like a whip, I will find myself
somewhere else
watching. Goodbye already outside of
my grasp.
I wonder what it will be like
when I go the way
that all have gone before.
One day
someday
one day
I'll know.
Tuesday, February 17, 2015
Alphabet
Arisen from the
Banal of
Creating
Day to day,
Every moment
Flying by.
Going from
Here to there,
I wondered where you were.
Joker
Kind
Lover
Mellow
Never ending something,
Over the
Presence of all I had known.
Quiet wondering as to whether a
Real
Sweet
True love might be
Under the
Very next stone.
Willing it to land on the
X. And then, there came
You.
Zing.
Sunday, January 11, 2015
yellow light
yellow light
against the fence behind my house.
yellow light that beckons night.
yellow light that reminds me of color, and the sinking of it into nothingness.
yellow light
that haunts me
and
calls me
just the same.
against the fence behind my house.
yellow light that beckons night.
yellow light that reminds me of color, and the sinking of it into nothingness.
yellow light
that haunts me
and
calls me
just the same.
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