cinerea

“Poetry does have the ability to help us deal with things that aren’t black and white and make our thinking more subtle.” -Michael Collier

 

clarifying in the moments of utter confusion

leave the muse

confounded

or so She will not say.

petrified to move from this spot

of solace,

safety,

of sheer possibility for fear

of causing the ripple that

effects

every other thing

when love itself is sacrosanct

to only the loved

and the lover.

 

I can see the irony distorted in the distance.

 

stillness, with direction

purpose,

and poise.

movement in

holding steadfast in this one place

until all complication

brushes fear aside…

a gathering of more love

than even I thought

was inside of me

clamoring to get out:

wait your turn.

patience.

breathe.

 

up until now

this moment

I knew-

I believed…

absolutely,

that God is capable of

miracles

like this

but had no reason to think

He’d waste one on me.

this-

this lightning

thunderbolts

des coups de foudre

it is more than magic and

sleight of hand

it’s nothing short of

that miracle conceived

and never expected.

As she muses so eloquently on

life

in ways not even I

had considered

in all the tedium spent breaking it down

to build it back up.

Grey skies never mean

the sunshine has left us abandoned;

it’s just hiding in the shadows,

and I was living

under this misconception

this illusion

that I knew everything She was up to

she

who smiles sometimes

with sadness in her eyes

looking at me as if I have

some answer for her

while I keep firing away with more questions.

truth is fickle that way

funny in its

non-committal stance

all the while towering

above all else.

 

She knew something

I wasn’t ready to see

and while I typed in

black and white

that sparkle in her eyes wasn’t  Love I saw

but the Technicolor reflection

of who we will become.

Those eyes…

more than anything

never before and never again

unlike any other

make me want to come clean.