Once I remember he told me a story.
One about the way he felt and the
way his heart beat heavy in his chest and
sometimes, every now and then, he would
get the feeling that the blood pumping in his
veins was lost and confused. Like his being
was dragging on and on again on a path he
lacked the ability to map out, and
I don't know why it was so complicated for me to understand
but I think in a way he was trying to tell me
that he was lost, and hungry...hungry for something
that's always been dancing just inches away from the
place I've been standing, feet planted in the dirt
like my bones were breaking down, aching
to hold on to something more then themselves, to
be rooted into the earth like he was becoming
rooted into me.
Every now and then I can feel him
tugging on those roots to make sure I still follow
close behind his pull, like he's scared that
when he calls my name no one will answer.
I'll always answer, but he doesn't know that yet.
And one day, when he feels like his roots
have no more room left to grow, like they're
already buried deeper than he is buried himself;
I'll open my arms and let the sunlight in,
I'll show him that there's miles left to grow.
He'll understand, then. That all the time
he's spent burying himself, I've been
burying myself in him.