We began bigger than this. Like sun warmed sand and waves. Tidal and furious.

We began like crashing stars into a horizon that thought it could hold us captive.

We began with simple letters forming big complex words and then sentences. Destined for stories.



A call.



And now we stare at ruins. Wondering if we can rebuild.

Wondering whether we can weather the weather.



And through it all, I reclaim my former glory.

Punching at the glass ceiling and shaking my fists at the passers by above.

Warrior. Skin your tattoos from your back and bind them into picture books for children.

Rid your teeth. Give them to the wise man to dangle from his throat.

Turn your shield into a soup bowl and feed the hungry mouths you see.

Make your bow into a cradle and let your youth rest for once.



My fists are polished stone. Monuments to days past.



I am a relic.



This. This is what men of the world fight for.



Bright smiling eyes. And matched heartbeats, linking rhythm until it threatens to burst from our chests.



Playing heart strings in minor chords. Making lyrics out of the words stuck in our throats.

Trusting touch to explain the things we can’t.



And making love like prayer.



We began like laughing children. Laughing in the face of the future.

Reading the great stories on our lips by placing our finger beneath them and moving slowly.. to.. the.. right.



And the hole on the other side of the world can’t be filled.



Just avoided.



Our hands are held to our own mouths now.  Some covering. Some cupped to shout.



And I will bellow. Bellow to stoke the fire.



Warrior. Make your armor into a home. Cover the heads of those dearest to you.

Bring fire to match the one in your heart. And cut your tongue from your mouth before it learns to form the word surrender.



Ask the mountain for faith.

Ask the rock for healing.

Ask the lady for peace.



We began bigger than this.



We can end the same.

Let us go forward then, in full bloom.
Daring to be only what we are, at last.
For in our kiss, we felt the future.
But in our haste, we taste our past.

And all at once, I loved the feel of hands sweeping across my face.

Moving in circles to mark the years I was imagining as we lay still.

The blankets like bark as our roots tangled together sipping wine like rich soil and whispers.

We. The rings. At it’s center. Moving like planets in travel.

Biting our lips shut. Revealing our age, one whispered secret at a time.

Our hearts making rungs to be climbed to our minds. Our minds making light to show the path back to our hearts. And there and back. Again and again.



I loved you the most when you loved me the most.



Had I known the answer to the riddle. I would have bound the hands together when they met. Both facing upward. As if praying to the stars to stop the time and let us live here. When it was best. When it was still before dawn. When you still believed that my shoulders were wide enough to protect us both. Wide enough to carry the world upon.



The weight. It makes my footprints look like canyons in my wake.



Could I have seen that, once again, the falling stars we wished upon were grains of sand passing through the event horizon of our infatuation to fall on us like dust, I would have shouted them back up. Screaming my throat raw.



I have no voice.



There was a time. A time when the titans wished for hearts as large as ours. A time when the moon was brighter as it caught the glow of my hand on your waist. There was a time when our hungry paws found skin and mouths like milk and finger tips like ink and hearts like parchment. And we drank and wrote and laughed so loud the horizon split. The sun coming up as an echo.



There was a time when every answer we’d ever sought could have been written on the palms of our hands and we would not have parted them to read.



A time when we believed that time could stop.



I have read the answers on my palms now.



I wish I had then.

Could I pluck this nights moon from the sky,

I'd tether it to the center of my eye.

That you might see your light reflected back,

If only once, before we die.

My hands are cold from want and salt-heavy air.

The sails are gray like soggy wool against the purple night.

The wind smells of possibility but tastes of regret

And I can only mutter,

"It reminds me of her. It reminds me of home."

My heart is a compass.

You are North.

Be a lighthouse and I will turn my wheel towards you.

I. Am. Not. So. Far. Away...