I am neither in nor
out.
Meaning, there is no reference point.
And I will do
things,
like meet you
to fling paint and
drink wine,
even though I know
it’s more an invitation
to soothe our broken
hearts and
seek solace in our
mutual desire
for loving
and being loved.
And yes, our comfort in
each other is
hot and fleshy and fun
and leaves us spent for
the moment,
but it’s not
in and it’s
not out,
and there is no reference point.
You are shy and I am
silent,
we are protecting
our still broken hearts,
but now we are
even more naked,
even more exposed.
We talk about what we
want:
you begin and I am grateful,
you are speaking
my heart as you open your own
our deep need
for healing from
within
what is it to be so self-referred?
fulfilled? contained?
our deep desire
for connection from
without
will I ever belong?
to anyone? anything?
We toss about a way or
two
to moil through the mire
together,
but our hearts are
neither in nor out.
There is no reference point.
We cannot see the way.
And so I say:
like it or not, we are
living
the in-between space,
not together and not
separate,
grasping yes, but
somehow still healing,
we’re
threestepsforwardtwostepsback
a mirror,
a reflection,
a possibility,
a reminder.
And even without knowing
the depth and breadth
of the stories that
brought us into this
liminal space of
heartache
and darkness,
the reference is our
orientation to the light,
whatever else we may
or may not be to
each other.
We are a witness
for the journey
of the
threshold
– the doorway –
and the courage of the
heart
that beats and beats
no matter
how far in
or how far out
we may be.
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