Been wanting to write something like this for a while...
I know what it means to branch off.
I know what it means to come home.
White petals in springtime are part of it.
Restlessness and that feeling I get
that makes me want to avoid places
where what runs deep surfaces.
(Can’t walk there - too beautiful -
they might know I still long for courtyards.)
This too is passion.
Deep like the ocean, like the view
of white columns under (another) full moon -
like many many stars and candles
and my breath in the spaces between.
As long as I’ve written
I’ve written this story.
(All Realms are one Realm.)
I can say now that I like that painting
that hangs there in the hall -
that I’m still girt with a sword.
I can say now that the silence is not heavy, but deep
under the dome where our magic echoes.
And I can say that I know kinship (again)
Deeper than blood, spun out in words -
Speaking with power.
I know where I stand.