and the wind spoke to me through the leaves - something in the language of trees. it was your name and the sounds of your footsteps in the rain and how i couldn’t make myself say “i love you.”
last night i had that dream again. the meadow and the doe rising with the fog at her back. the hard metal trap of -
did you know or, how long have you known or-
were you too polite to say it aloud?
that’s ok sweetheart, that’s ok.
the wind in the leaves, laughter reaching out as voices trapped in a glass jar.
or the echo of your name from afar- -
like water, i’ve forgotten my way to the sea
the spark of life i felt when your knee touched me in the library. that day we breathed in and it was dust between the two of us.
why is there always something between the two of us? haven’t we waited long enough?
i think i try to be truthful to myself. the shower, my church i visit every night: now i open my mouth, the water my communion. now i fumble the knob, the hotter the better. now let me be absolved of my sins. let me conquer this, let me burn it out. now i pray through wet hair, a fist clenched on the faucet spout.
still, the curve of your mouth how can you expect me - -
how can i blink it all away in the darkness;
the haze through the music, the bodies pressing, the little white pill in my hand.
god, how do i seem to only find you inside of moments like these, let me understand the terrible whys,
my religion: the pill turns to ash in my mouth, oblivion: my release.
i think, please let tomorrow be a different tomorrow-
a different animal from tonight’s animal.
let me be freed from this trap i’ve woven myself into. or tell me what i have to do.
my choices: kill it, forget, or you.
ah, and there’s the turning away sweetheart. that’s ok.
if love was a bird, i’d let it go.
maybe you did, mourns the birch, if you’re lucky you’ll never know.
- - oh. but what if it was the doe?
