no weight on my shoulders.
no burden to hold me down.


how do we begin to have these conversations?
and, how many times must we stumble upon our own words?
i shut my eyes, a feeble effort to shut a memory down.
but, memories often refuse to play nice.

this memory will not let me be.
it moves. like a vagrant light
across a dark field.

i want to tell it, once more, to go away.
i want to tell it to freeze. cease. die.
i want to tell it things, but my tongue
won't find the words.

i wonder, in awe, at this fumbling
moment that makes me question. 
probe. criticize. rage. scream.



i apologize.

smear me with your whispers, then, memory.
etch your images upon my face.

there is a sleeping river at the edge of this woods.
it waits to reconstruct the mystery of you.

i, too, wait.

taking up as much time and space 
as time and space will allow,
i leave everything... 
everyone... hanging.

nothing else matters.
nothing, dear, but you.

we, too, will be memory.


we lie down on the ground
whispering about what rises within us

and what the earth carries
while the sky lingers and waits

re-enchanting itself
weaving a madrigal of awakening

washing away the indecision
painting us with intention


share with me your thoughts. tell me. do you think i'm too serious? yes. i am. i already know this. but saying it is owning it: i am too serious. 

i hear my voice inside my head. i speak the words out loud: i am too serious.

my inner child bristles: i am too serious?

i say the words. i own the words: i am too serious.

i am not words. 

i am not narrative. i am not story.

i am not a hesitant reenactment of faulty memories.

i am not a unidimensional state.

i am playful. i am child. i am infant.

this, too, i own.


this truth brings tears.

won't you extend me a tissue? a hand? a shoulder?

won't you measure my need on a scale? won't you sum it up into a simple number? won't you qualify it? quantify it? multiple choice? yes or no? true or false? likert scale? won't you break it down so you can see all the parts?

won't you penetrate its deepest spirit?

this tunnel.
this passage.
this corridor.

is endless.


i have.

a mallet
for every curve of concrete.

a key 
for every door.