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?

It is a natural compulsion
to assume
that every blank space
requires input,
that an empty page
longs to be filled,
that all unmarred swathes of sand
desire the pen
of stick or bare toe
to tell its tale.

I have chosen
to resist
my first impulse
and see what comes
in the void
and the waiting.

Will you join me?

Walk with me
to the water's edge
and stand at the place
where the wave creates
a new, unsullied slate.
Watch with me
to see what stories
the sand itself will speak.

I have two hearts
one for loving each side
of the paradox

what I have found
and what I have lost

what I hold
and what I cannot reach

what I see
and what I can only sense
as in a dream.

Or perhaps
I have but one heart
broken open
by all this loving
learning at last
to live
apart
together.

Willingly
we enter the darkness

spectators
surrounded but unknown

submerged in the flow of a story
we cannot stop

seeking connection
through a tale that can fracture
into a thousand viewpoints
while holding together
as a single whole.

Tender-eyed
we emerge into the light

asking each other
ourselves

are we changed?