there will be an end…
I’m uncertain with which means it is to happen
perhaps I’ll be 105
well beyond breathing expectation
I may still carry an ocean in my eyes but maybe they’ll reflect his sky
I won’t ever unknow him and my heart races surging with that truth
yet I may never ever truly know the movement of he…my heart already feels every ounce of that kind of empty
I probably won’t hear very well at that age as my ears are forever plugged into music…even now I write with live and intoxicating sounds flowing through me
I am fluid in uncertainty; the remains of hesitation line my lungs; these effects travel through time…I know I still feel this, what this is in the now; and so feel it then
squeezing every drop of he from me…I’m airless and deaf in the loud disclosure of quietness; even then when I’m 105 I will feel as now; alone…uncared for…exposed and unfurled, scented with don’t waste me
I dont know how to navigate this terrain, its foreign soil slipping through my fingers, and chokehold on my red dusted heart
tell me, should I turn to leave
jump from cliffs
slide into the crevasse
disappear into a dark lake bottom
never speak of you again
I can’t undo you
too late
I am 105, carried in my last breaths I whisper of now, of you, your every obscured words puzzled, nuzzled in my pores
I whisper of the ghosts in your writing…chanting your name
come here
show me, love
let me practice the entirety of you
open to me
the sound of you…
falling until felled from my lips