Can I trust you?
yes
But how do I know?
How do I know you're safe?
you don't deep down
but I will finally show you
peace
i've felt you from a long distance
i've seen you remove your heart
i'm here to stitch it back in place
i've saved this tourniquet
to stop your bleeding
your pain is heavy
your tears have filled this cup
to where you see your life as
half empty
rest
lay your head upon my sternum
you see the world as inhumane
with your restless eyes
but can you see me?
i won't depart
not again
you feel you're at the end
of the road
and of all the street signs
point to destruction
stay
please for one last time
and I will direct you
back on course
i haven't forgotten
i haven't forgotten your innocence
i haven't forgotten your purity
the world took these morals
from you
i stole them back like
a thief in the night
i've found myself pouring rivers
feeling your torment
rest now
i'm here to fulfill what you
so desperately have
been yearning
love

I looked out over
the peninsula of ice
reaching out into the rippling lake,
unsettled as I.
Snow covered peaks on the horizon
like clouds,
dreams and ideals melted
in decades poured out
in earnest labor.

The tall gaunt preacher
stood stoop-shouldered
his black hat barely gripped
in his hand held against his left leg
his face sad, eyes cast down
as if to discern what had gone wrong.

The rusted out bike
tires flattened, lay on bricks discarded
from an old church
with a cast iron cross
aching and alienated.

A once sparkling life
may seem barely more than refuge
but a soul stirs
still beaming,
a lighthouse
on the sea
crashing against the rocky shoal.

“It’s just a rough draft,”
he said with a laugh
but the joke is half epitaph.

I know I’ll regret it
this helping him edit
his thesis, this knife,
that will cut through my life.

Somehow, it’s become real
this part of the deal
where my dear Dr. Peter
will vamoose from our theater
where I’ve acted like I could go on
when I return next year, and he’s gone.