May 9, 2010
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i saddled myself to the depths of remorse
and called on thunder, brittle lightning;
unfazed, unsheltered, we were bent on
reaching the shore before the tide.
in a fit of wonder you cast your gaze
to the curtained sky, asked that we stay,
and drew yourself to the trees.

amidst the gentle swarm of darkness
you stretched your cord to the branch,
life flowing through the threads.
final images and thoughts buried themselves
into the recesses of your mind,
and in a final pull you shot forward,
reached the limit, leapt upwards,
and then crumpled with a sharp snap.

the birds' wings rustled, but there
were no songs whistled in the leaves.
the sun crept downwards,
consciously aware of its glaring beauty,
and in its place came the trickling moon;
a softer comfort, a sweet messenger.

in that instant i cannot help but wonder
why from the heavens there wasn't
a torrent of pelting rain, or why
the earth didn't peel open in revulsion.
i cannot possibly understand
how the trees kept swaying,
even as the last flicker of life
crept dutifully away into the night.

pregnant silence. bewildered grief.
a fear so strong it raised shocked walls
and often battered, sometimes fresh
disbelief, hysterics, trembling.
through all this a new form of love,
a fragile sense of respect was conceived.

in the early hours of the morning
i called to you and i held myself to you.
not an offering, nor an exchange,
so much as an attempt to see beyond the
blood that won't dry, bones that won't bleach.

i will stagger to you when i'm in rags,
and in the twilight i will hold you.
i will cry to you, and be gracious to you,
and someday, when i've been stretched
too far, the blood struggling to flow,
i will ask for you, and i will wait for you.
and i will see you through the branches.

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