It is the kind of light
That pools in the palm
Of your hand,
Slung low beyond the horizon,
Marking the shortest of days.
Darkness has two edges,
Hiding some,
Threatening others,
Offering only a mirror
For souls.
History shares the heralding
Of resilient hope,
Hovering over meager lives
On one edge of the solstice.
Fear is silenced,
Fortitude embraced,
And grace shines.
I watch as you play
the game,
a strategy gauged
to prove you are
the polished
good person you
present to the world.
The underlying fear
of knowing your own
truths is more intriguing
than your facade.
I long to peel the thickened
layer of practice
and see the raw stacks
of your context bared,
to watch as your eyes
and mind recognize
you are as flawed
as the rest of us.
Most often of late
We connect with
Words that bounce
Off the stars,
Flung in haste across
The universe in an effort
To complete the list,
Or collect the most.
Standing in the chill
Breeze where we
Stood as children
Makes those words
More trite.
I watch your eyes
As we talk,
Seeing our shared history
Come to life from a
Perspective tangential
To mine,
A sometimes weaving
Line of intersection
And tangles.
Sharing real time
Always lessens the
Cleft created by
Distance,
And I feel whole
Again.
There is history
In your eyes,
Strung in long
And winding threads
Behind the freshness
With which you meet the day.
A single bugle can tug
Loose the nights
Trundled so carefully
Under your solid
And steadfast living.
The glimpses you have shared
Have helped color
The way I see the world,
What it can be,
And how this promise
I know as the future
Lies in furrows and
Trenches,
Frozen on mountain tops
Marked by sacrifice.
Subtlety vanished
With the daylight,
Sliding into the
Clouds of November,
Pushed aside.
Long awaited nesting
Became an exercise in
Survival,
An internal struggle
To claim space
And time.
Imagined conversations
Haunt reality,
Preparations for a
Future as yet
Unknown.
In my dream
I watch you kneel
Under the weight
Of the ageless ice,
Oblivious to our
Tiptoed dance,
Simply waiting.
We twirl around you,
Questioning your
Darkened stillness.
At last we also
Lose motion,
Matching the glacial timeline
That stretches ahead,
The only twirling
Hidden inside.
We are caught in
the calm between fronts,
The window of waiting
As the wind shifts poles.
The boots are still
Marching,
Marking the retreat
Of glaciers,
Great sheets of
Ice surrendering
Passively,
Permanently.
Spinning wheels
Of wind and
And water
Follow the front lines,
Ensuring the invasion
Persists.
We have had flashing neon
Warnings,
Countless last chances,
And we let them
All slip
Away,
One melting drop
At a time.
To be lost
In the woods
Sheds trappings
Sometimes painstakingly
And painfully
Collected.
Within the quiet
Of the effort
To survive,
Only innermost
Truths travel
The straight lines
Etched in
The simple gestures
Which need no words.
Thriving here
Is the antithesis
Of urban.
I grasp your hand
In the dark velvet
Of the night,
Warm and reassuring
In the deepest
New moon.
We feel our way,
Sometimes encouraging,
Sometimes coaxing,
Sometime fearful.
Just as the sky
Begins to lighten,
The edges of your
Face emerge.
After our shared
Journey,
I only see the
Light in your eyes,
And know how much we
Matter.
