I am restless

white-hot lightning
arcing
dancing
snaking across
blue-black sky

by nature
bound to movement

a fate that
forges the question:
destruction
or illumination?

Today I am a bruise
all muddy purples and inky blues

A tender pain that
pulses into agony
with just the slightest pressure

Longing for a gentle touch
to soothe me,
salve me,
save me.

There is no contentment
     to be found in the world
except what you carry in yourself.

It is the hour
when air is made
of nighttime sighs

all the longings
buried
beneath the layers of daylight
productivity
and presumption
at last escaping

exhaled
into the tender spaces
found only in quiet darkness.

The sky today
looks like a door
flung open
that I could escape through
into a life
less tethered.

Truthfully
I have all the things,
More even
Than my fair share.
Still I don't feel full.

Secret joy
meets its sudden, bloody end
and I am left to carry
death
as intimately as
I once carried life.

The grief flows
unabating
in its bitter reminder
of what my arms
will never hold.

The ache of my body
hardens in my soul
as a question:

Where are you now
Creator of the life
I cannot save?