the tide
Then we came to the lamp, singing. What fun there was in those moments was not to be had, but had us. Then, stopping just short of being stretched to taffy with laughter, we parted. Time to go. The only way to hear was as an outcast. Inside, the ears get stopped by the noise of building fortress walls. Goodbye, each called, to find us again in waters, blooming.
Pulled from the stream.
When the veil slips against this grip against the fire of high noon, and there’s no recourse but to take in the full face of a day’s madness, no words can help me bear it, each too round unto itself, biting its tail.
I slipped into the stream again, dead weight at your shoulder, the nebulae of closed eyes until the saving tongue of salt lime chased my veins back into themselves and you shone me a remedy.
The words go on biting their tails. None can help me bear this love, when only the living will do.
