Mouths and eyes and outlines of form

bending in the dark

Never quite sure of the landscape

Where to place feet or hands

Wondering at sounds from trees nearby

The quiet air crackling with otherworldly energy,

Keeping secrets from the light of day

But the stars know and aren’t telling.

I can’t speak to my own purpose

any clearer than a drop of dew

on a fencepost.

I hope it’s worth it

for as long as I can stand it.

She was bedecked with jangles and suede

ready for a cool drink in a dim pub

excited to build something beyond her

But he wanted to sit across from her

in a vinyl booth with coffee

in cracked ceramic anxious to tear away

jagged bits of himself he held close.

Their projections of themselves barely

fit the other, but close enough so

mental acrobatics were like emo foreplay

and sparks between them glowed

as pure as muffled glittery first snow.

The rain didn’t register over the things

they didn’t need to say.

The words of forgiveness and suffering

were not easy to listen to,

what with images of dancing and touch

coming so closely with the heat

of the rising sun.

Learning to welcome worldly torment

hoping for otherworldly release

because I am alive and utterly human;

the form we have is not ours to keep.