forget the page. forget the line.
you are alone here and forever where light does not reach.
breathe the petrichor cold.
my first is in bell but never in tell
my second in will but never in well
my third is in ray; my fourth is in day
and as soon as you think me I fly far away
my first is in moon but never in soon
my second in done but never in dune
my third is in stove; my fourth is in shove
and it is the bright of the lamp that I love
it is wider smaller closed than larger open
it is warmer colder soft than heated harsh
I am safer farther now than once at home
I am not sad. I am not afraid.
i.
dig deep the wound; it should have healed now,
by now it should be a ghost against my skin,
but I tear it open and again and again. dig into your flesh and to the bone. carve the names of the lost into each bone. carve my name; yours.
ii.
take the crumpled paper of my heart and lay it smooth. these words should have been yours,
could have been yours. had I been faster,
had I been better, had the world been kinder—
in a kinder world, there would be no need for such words. they would be written in the stone heart of the earth,
and not in mine.
too late, ah, too late. wad it back up; it will and can do no good now.
iii.
I met the grief that tears songs from throats, wordless pure cries that touch the air and are music. her fingers lay across my neck, and pull, and pull.
I sing wordless endless for her. I sing the night and the morning and in the silence I sing again. I ask for understanding;
I ask for peace. And even as I cry out I see that the more I give, the more she takes.
I sing solitude and sorrow, and unturned stone.
iv.
I am not in my heart a thief. I hold truth under my tongue and I breathe it out; I am in the end alone with the truth of myself.
I love you.
be gone and stay gone; I would not begrudge you that. if that is peace, let it be peace.
ah, but in a kinder world—
I am not afraid. I am not sad.
have my life my trust my love
I do not fear but am afraid
I love you I will be okay
break me hold me touch me I am yours.
you're predator or prey, but the world doesn't care which
the lower gets the upper hand and then the parties switch
you'll sell your soul for water and you'll sell your mind for bread
but in the end all that the prey can get in this world's dead
the mist is rolling in now thick
the wind sweetly a-blowing
pass flame from wick to candlewick
for now we must be going
carve the flower from my throat
pull it from my eye
I won't play host to parasites
I would rather die
reach touch step through every doorway
conquer yourself and not the land
say what you mean and mean what you say
hand in hand with your enemy stand
the fog in my head and the blur in my eyes
the sharp in my wrist and the lack in my sleep
I stare and don't write, I stare and don't write.
Your silhouette is sharp against the August day;
It's time to choose life or to live.
A month of flight is all the world can give.
Stand on Warner's Peak and back away.
one for the lost who no longer miss home
two for those who have no choice but to roam
three for the sparrows and four for the crows
five for one perfect blood-colored rose
six for the sun and the stars and the moon
seven for secrets that come out too soon
eight for a smile and nine for a frown
and ten for the shovel that digs too far down.
when summer cold and lonesome ends,
the poet goes to visit friends.
they once together spent their youths
and hunted for the hidden truths
and one by one they fell from love
and sheltered from the sun above.
when summer cold and lonesome ends,
the poet stands before his friends.
in exile they are brothers now,
though not a one is quite sure how.
they hurt so many when they fell
that each of them is scarred as well.
when summer cold and lonesome ends,
the poet is bereft of friends.
they one by one died in the light
all longing for the kind, warm night
and knowing they would lie unmarked
abandoned by the loving dark.
the spring does not know of the sorrow to come
oh, summer will come and will change all we know
and the tune you sing now will be something I hum
the birds in the trees all are crying "don't go!"
the spring is so light and I'd stay if I could
with you by my side I would not fear at all
but I cannot cling to what's right and what's good
the birds in the trees sit and wait for the fall
nothing lurks behind you, sweet;
all you hear is your two feet.
all you hear is echoes, dear;
there's no need for you to fear.
but I fear, o mother mine;
the tiny twisting paths entwine
and sure will lead me far astray.
do not send me there, I pray.
the path is safe, my love, I swear;
it will lead you here to there
with not a stumble or a slip.
why would I want you, dear, to trip?
but I fear, o mother mine;
something's there with eyes that shine.
something's in there growling low
and footsteps fall behind me slow.
dearest heart, have trust in me;
walk the path alone—you'll see.
those howls are only in your head;
there is nothing wants you dead.
but I fear, o mother mine,
that on me wild beasts will dine.
down my spine there runs a chill—
o, please let me stay here still.
love, you do not have a choice.
square your shoulders; hush your voice
and step into the forest, sweet—
for the wild beasts to eat.
grief tilts my head up high;
this isn't the poem I want to write
but it's all the poem I have.
grief's fingers curl around my throat;
I can't—
I'm breathing sharp through shattered glass.
this isn't the poem I want to write.
I want twining beauty and sweet pain,
I want to twist words and shape lines.
grief's hands close warm and tight.
"and there was nothing I could do," I say,
I whisper to the ceiling dark.
"it was not up to me," I say,
I write into myself again.
this isn't the poem I want to write.
I draw tears into my eyes.
this isn't the poem I want to write.
I remember.
this isn't the poem I want to write.
this isn't the poem I want to write.
take it, take it all! I want no more.
I want to stop grieving. I'm done.
grief choke me empty; I don't care.
grief leave me gasping; so it goes.
this isn't the poem I want to write.
I tied your words around my heart;
the knot is far too tight.
to cut it would mean death for me;
to leave it feeds grief more.
forgive the time I mourned for you.
absolve me of my love.
the past is yours; the future mine.
one day i'll be okay.
the living jump; the dead men fall;
you run from warmth and truth and fear.
you could not jump; and so it goes.
dance me quick and spin me spun
the day turns on and is not done
the falling night dips into mist
and by the horizon is kissed