I’m caught between
ecstasy
at your being here
and the grief of it,
for the world
isn’t good enough
for you
Faith, Health, and Other Musings
May our minds flourish with creation, and may our hands never deny its expression.
I’m caught between
ecstasy
at your being here
and the grief of it,
for the world
isn’t good enough
for you
I’m haunted
by a thing invited
and a thing that invades.
I permit it
to a room’s space
and at every corner
I find it behind my face
If it makes it past my heart
I’ll kill it with my hands
There’s an echo in the mountains
When the body lands
Not a person
But a planet full
Vast in its purple oceans
And many in its moons
Dragging me into your orbit
And drowning me in your
Violet waves
She pulls me
gently
down a well-worn path,
littered with ferns and old letters,
and brings me to
a flowery clearing.
“This is always where they leave,”
she says,
indicating the barren field.
“Yes,” I say,
“this is it.”
“This is what?”
“This is a perfect place
to build a home.”
Breathing heavy,
I wait for light to leave the sky –
longing for your nighttime spell
a brutal, tortured tongue-tie.
You haunt me with your drawling voice
dark and yet unseen,
you disturb my foolish, failing heart
and call it Halloween.