and i am elemental, broken and bound, lost and found. all these things and more.
my sister tells me she had lunch with two fathers from a nameless religious organization and the topic of a book i once wrote came up. she told them what i said, what i believe, and they said,
how very similar our beliefs are to hers.
eve rises.
even when i neglect her. even when i shun her.
she will not lie silently. she must speak.
and so she does.
and i may bind her and let her go, set her free, as it were. since she seems to have a will of her own. and what is writing for if not to be read. what is dreaming for if not to remind us of the paths we are to take.
and i saw you in that dream. but you were locked in stasis, and i could not set you free. i could not set you free.
i keep dreaming, hoping i'll find the key, but i've got nothing.
empty pockets, empty dreams.
and i keep wondering when.
and then she speaks to me, and i know, i understand.
i spoke your name to the silence. to the darkness. to the wind.
arise. and the dragon will rekindle your cooling embers.
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The mere trees cast no coolness where you go.
I know your weight of days, and mourn I know.
All hues beneath the ground are bare grayness.
When I was young, I might have touched your hair,
Gestured my warning, how that fire will gray,
Slight arms and delicate hands fall heavier,
And pale feet hasten to a dark delay.
Now old, I love you slowly, through my sound.
Lightly alive, you cannot mourn for trees.
You cannot care how grass, above the ground,
Gathers to mold your shadow’s quick caress.
Rabbit and jay, old man, and girl, and woman,
All moved above me, dreaming of broad light.
I heard you walking through the empty world.
Startled awake, I found my living sight:
The grave drifted away, and it was night,
I felt your soft despondent shoulders near.
Out of my dream, the dead rose everywhere.
I did not dream your death, but only mine.
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