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Echoes within echoes

I am combing through the dead and dying 

of your plants 

you haven't been here for months

and still your touch remains

Hardened through neglect

In abandonment

...but I understand.

I sense your style in selection

Succulent and ornamental

Colorful, durable, spoiled

And I know where you learned it—

And I sense the echoes of instruction through time

And I remember us

And I sense the echoes of a time

When a different forest grew in this place

Outside the tree I planted has become so immense

I remember when I could barely hold it with both hands

As we put it into the earth, so many years ago  

And they topped it.

Careless like the humans are

And I smile as it breaks the concrete

nothing this place has done to our lives

Can stop the inertia of what has been put in motion

I hope that tree grows to destroy this city.

I hope it stands for a thousand years

like a monument to some kind of love 

I don't entirely know what the takeaway is

but I know that

because of you; I can see. 

and I hope that everywhere your life leads

the door to the forest remains open 

I go back to watering them

And I see what you mean: 

they are indeed special.

relieved in 

In the reliefs 

where the reverberations of memory

Are made real

In the echoes of a love that was beyond this place

somewhere something

somewhere there is something
hardened like a stone
where minds embrace the darkness
unafraid of the unknown.
somewhere there's a yearning
bathed in silver light
cast against the shadows
of this never-ending night
somewhere there's a fragment
of some shattered part
crushed under a crystal
combative to my heart
and until it is in ruins
I will fight it with my soul
somewhere there is something
somewhere, we are whole.

Pour.

  

Dreaming of

Wet concrete

A place I can live and work and feel whole

Like a human,

…whatever that means.

Dreaming of

Your face

Alight in happiness

Like a beacon calling some salt-chapped mariner home.

But the reality is

I love the rain obsessively  

Where my work never makes me satisfied

In an anger

That never subsides.

The reality is

Like a nightmare   

Mired in amphetamines

Like a distortion without future or past.

Why then

Have we been wrought?

To this level of exchange

Where I feel you like the smell of some familiar cigarette

Rising up through the air.

Why then

look upon me?

So full of derision

Where I feel like a fool I once knew

Falling through life blindly.

In moments

There is so much chaos

So much further to go

As if time feels like treacherous mountains

That must be traversed

In moments

I feel so deeply

With such sensitivity

As if the petals of myself peel back

In a rawness that I save for you.

  

And I’m learning

How to let go,

How to make things right

In ways that I never thought possible.

And I’m learning

That there is a kind of method

Spawned from the absence of possibility.

That arises in these moments

Where I awaken

To a world that is different and new

Under all the contextual things

consuming every facet of free attention. 

I awaken

Repeadely, as if surfacing

Upon the worlds that I have not yet known 

Where we are only beginning

to understand what the future holds

Magi

There is a tension to it

Like a twisted piece of fabric being rung

Like the emptiness that I feel

Growing within me.

Moment by moment.

The seconds draw out,

longer and longer

like some impossibly perfect candle-lit vignette

contaminated

in the otherness

that I know that

you have seen

within me.

I’m so empty

it’s hard to put to words.

And it’s an emptiness that is so familiar.

As I stand wondering if our time has passed

As you look in the reflection of yourself

that is me.