The fire between us

Here we sit.
Not the first time,
but the first of any length of time,
the fire between us with
no middle in sight.

Not now,
indeed, not ever,
for you have found her: your true love.

And all I want to do is bless you.

All I want is your happiness,
and I am thankful, truly,
that there is a beautiful Italian woman
who speaks broken English and
turns you on like crazy and
loves you in all the ways
I never will. I am not jealous
and I don’t even want to cry.

We say our goodbyes and there
in the fire between us is
the hope that it might have been different.

Your arms open to me;
I fall in.
Alone with my choices,
feeling the loss of something never found.

Blessing II

What if I bless you?

I mean, really bless you.
Send you off with a kiss
and every best wish -
my precious message in bottle.
Set out to sea for unknown, exotic lands/
unknown, exotic hands.

More - what if give away every you there ever was?
Every incarnation.
Every possibility.

You as gravity.
You as adventure.
You as comic relief.
You as savior.

Give you away to everybody everywhere,
knowing the release will mean
someone on that distant shore will
catch you
claim you
unravel you
decipher you
understand you
love you.


And what if I'm ok with that?
What if that's the point?
Blessing you, and her, and everybody everywhere.
Knowing the sweetest gift is
the gentle opening of hands (of heart),
setting free what always and ever already was.

I will say:

I will say: I let your majesty move me.
Succumbed to your beautiful truth
in a sweet and satisfying surrender.
Open and bare and better for it,
stretched beyond where even you could find me.

Strong

I’d like to tell you to not be afraid,

You are strong enough and so am I.

But the telling of it is like promising fruit in the fall

when there was a killing frost so late in the spring

and the summer has been so dry

and the trees are struggling so.

It’s like that.

I long for us to be what we are born for

- bearers of delicious, juicy, fruit-

but I see the harsh while we are weathering, and you, little sister,

not rooted or hardened as I, must drop your leaves in such a season as this,

and seek nourishment.

And I, shaped by years of bitter seasons

recognize the storm deep within

urging, advancing, greater than the conditions that created me

allowing me this moment of calm and truth:

You are strong enough and so am I.