pressure

there’s always pressure

determine direction

find a quiet place

perhaps a garden

perhaps a valley

with soft edges

where you can face decision

wait for answers

for questions without answers

squeezing the blood

hematidrosis

ready yourself

with what will you brace?

where did this start?

all this weight

might be a treasure

there is only so much

time to spend

carrying our little regrets

haemolacria

eyes diseased

you must wait rightly

fix your gaze

wade into the river

face the current

whether it pulls or pushes

follow it home

or let it bear you away

knocking

how fiercely we

protect ourselves.

we build walls

to keep pain

out and end

with only walls.

we were hurt

by love or

maybe “love.”

or were we?

maybe we simply

abandoned the field

of play, or battle.

i heard someone

once say that

love conquers all.

i try to believe

that. sometimes

i do. sometimes

i believe

the stories.

where love

has a name,

and it finds me,

finds a home

in my mouth.

somewhere

there is insistent

knocking.

will you rise

or remain hidden.

wind

you’re always

taking sides

your words

directionless

or rather

they lack

purpose

moved by wind

first one way

then another

you play

the middle

where

edges blur

advocating

mystery

or rather

a fog of opinions

wall full

of holes

nothing

bleeds through

you find

crooked paths

down

wards

distracted

by weeds

the garden

edged with flowers

that may

be useful

to offset

pests

small things

entering

every small

space

one way

or another

family

what a fragile and glorious thing

is family. so full of drama

and regret. ripe for hope.

we find so many ways to hurt

one another. through commission

or omission. you know how

we behave so monstrously.

and yet, there are moments of grace

where somehow none of that matters

or not at that moment. when

love is not just words

but releases itself in action,

pushing into our fear

and past all those years

of using words as weapons

or silence as leverage.

let family be a gift then,

and not a weight.

a basket, and not a net.

a joy, and not a burden.

quiet

the soft still voice

is so soft and still now

i wish it were not so

that i might be attuned

relearn how to attend

return to the source

where the song is birthed

where conversation begins

where i ask you questions

when you give me answers