(no subject)
And God, that absentee landlord,
does not hate us
though certainly, we're unfit to be
his boon companions.
Rather our lives unruly poems
overdone incomplete
lacking any really original sins.
And what would we do at the
celestial banquet
but drink too much
feel out of place
and wander away from the lights and music
to stand apart taking in huge draughts
of the steadying air
cursing our unworthiness
under the stars
with their terribly human stories of loss.
I thought our past
rooted in mud didn't matter
as long as our blooms
reached the light
like the water-lily,
like water mint
but the rooted mud was stronger
than I ever imagined.
I wish I could say I didn't want
to change you
or any of our moonlit nights
but I did. I wanted to lift the veins
of your life to me.
I am sorry for insisting,
yanking you toward me. I see
your need to go deeper into the bedrock
to find the buried tendons of your life,
that you need to cut
before you conquer
