the why...

because wrongness needs rightnesss

because I know I can be good

because I need reminding.

because I wanted one thing I couldn't lose

because I needed to let go

because I have nothing — none of us do.

because I was no longer content not to be

because I always have been

because I'm afraid I never will.

because I was ready

because I wasn't

because I was made to.

because 

because 

because 

because I kept your book

and it kept me from giving up

so, thank you

  for everything.

I've been waiting to wait for you

Been hoping to hope for you

Missed missing you

Cast sidelong glances at sidelong glances

The mirror dance we stumbled through as though blind

Was a sketch of an idea of an attempt at a prelude

But the second act is much better than the first

Friend, will I catch your eye across a crowded, hushed room,

See it shine with laughter, like radio on our private channel?

Who else has this frequency? Join in! All together, now

In this love of love

Joy that has no beginning

How could I imagine an end?

What is a leaf to the tree?

What is the leaf to the leaf? 

What is the leaf to one chloroplast in one cell? 

And what are you and I, God knows, 

In this tree with roots so deep,

trunk so broad, 

canopy so high, 

that we all fit… 

somewhere? 

How can it be,

when the tree 

is nothing to it,

nothing without it, 

that the light loves it, too?

Wash my heart in grief, you

whose love comes before love.

Plunge me into shame, soul

of joy. Touch me,

Only to show how untouched I am. See me,

Only so I curl in on myself. Wrung 

with loneliness I drip into the ocean. Fired

with despair, I am a speck of sand flowing into glass. You, 

you cannot be so far that I won't reach for you. And I,

in the dark, don't even need to close my eyes to see your face.

Is it in holding the pen,

a stork's beak tracing in air,

awaiting the feeling of fins underwater,

as still a gaze on the ground before prayer?

Or sighting and limning a lightness with ink,

and draping the blankness about as a veil,

eyes shining with secrets revealed,

and voice cradling verses inhaled?

How often the first voice is silent,

and in silence we raise up our own.

Is anyone speaking? Or do we just hear

what is and is all and alone?