Where light touches you
I see every little crack in your lips,
and every tiny hair on the side of your face
I see every single cell of skin,
and the empty space between them:
the cracks that you seep through
I see the columns of shadow along your eyelids cast by your lashes,
and where tears slide down your temples and into your hair,
I see the little shining copies;
the little crystal streaks
Where light touches you,
yourself is set not in shadow,
but in gold.
Old shadows break in the brand new walls
The dirt projected by the naked winter giants of trees
Stains bare wooden flesh with familiar rusty bandages
Kid sitting at the edge of a dock.
Legs swinging in free fall.
Wood scrapes into his hands.
He thinks that the stars can talk to him.
Midwestern night.
There’s something out in the fields,
Something banging on the roof.
Fresh vomit in the toilet.
The sink is running, so you can’t
Hear your own heavy breathing.
Comments
There's a gentleness and sensitivity to this piece that give me tender feels. Somehow, you've made crying tragically beautiful. This poem feels like an expression of pure love and acceptance.
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