on being friends and coming home

i've got so much meanness
and selfishness
and jealousy
it's crowding the air out of my lungs
and the space in my joints
that allows me to bend and stretch
i can't breathe

but to be true
i've got to let go
and realize that i'm okay

it's impossible to link souls
when i've left no space
and i can't let you overtake me either
because i'm still a home
i am a home
a place to sit and stay a while
the door is open to speak
but please
like in any good home
do not shout too much
leave your shoes at the door
i understand weariness
because that's the plague that makes me want to
shut up tight
and try to keep this all to myself

but it's a treasure to let you in
oh weary wanderer
to see what you see
the sights of another world
colors i don't understand
please forgive me
when i forget to pull out my best china
i can't reach it on the top shelf
but i'm getting there

walking home from church

the trees are damp and singing
twisted branches, conversations

i don't notice the rain anymore

the bits of lace flowers
dripping
puddles shiver

we must be cold under our scarves
unaware of the ground reaching up
and the sky curling down
whispers
fallow and gritty

days (incomplete)

morning:
we were all squinting
stretching out
it may have been too much sun

dusk:
presiding like kings and queens
conquering the small clearing
scrounged twigs ablaze

smoke in my eyes

and deep

widening into my lungs

cliffs, precarious

looking out for miles

it's empty

embers fading

it feels like home

night:

climbing back down

thankful i had you next to me

paths in daytime, treacherous 

night, absurd

eyes down to the pool of light ahead

listening for the echoes

after today

so aware of you

i could follow only the sound of your footsteps

your hum