saved by some small glimpse of moon

..

,
we realize
(not quite soon
enough)
that we are made
of silt, and salt.

not our fault,
perhaps – this being
our glorious dark
-est hour of burning hunger,
quiet storm.

that slice, that nice
bright sliver of praise
and protest, smiling sky,
she’s tired of grinning, feeling
fractured, not quite full.

i can’t blame her. con
-flicted by her mostly hidden
gaze, i’m still mostly saved, for
-given by a toxic sky and all
these just-mine stars.

i love her.
(have I said that?)
even in her most slender
state, she’s got me found
in fragments. i’ll pass
these wishes through the
stars be
-t(w)een, and know this mar
-bled sea might anti
-cipate my tears.

all these brave embattled
years, we’ve held out love
and haunted hate with
loud un
-apologetic glee. We’ve bent
a knee and rubbed
this earth. we’ve proved our
syllabled selves as warriors,
rebirthed.

..
In November, we poem.

 

 

 

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