Overheard, in the garden: Peter, put your sword away.
Now is the time for your attention.
If this to be a becoming, you cannot hold your guard.
It is impossible to bend into another body
while remaining upright. Hold another.
A dark hour. Then, keep holding. Wait.
In mourning, we unknow ourselves.
This is not an affirmation,
not a possibility or an idea.
What is it, then?
To stand in grief with any other,
bodies bowed to collect
what won’t fit in the borders
of any one, is to accept
a constant invitation
to unknow myself.
I was never a beginning
or an end––once or now,
and will never be.
Only we are here.