we are too scared
to admit that
we are already dying, already dead
we are too scared
to admit that
there is more life
in a stone
than in our bones
and we are too scared
to admit that
the river has
already flooded
and already been drained
and we are too scared
to admit that
this life
that we are living
is a sack of seeds
sitting in the attic
waiting to be planted
and that
the only flowers
that grow
are the ones
we name in our dreams

how well
do you know me
when i take down
my heaviest book
from the highest shelf
and bring it down low
to where the ashes
and the diamonds
are building a bridge
from me to you
and how willing are you
to walk this burnt path
to know me better
than you’ve ever known yourself?

i am pleased to meet
the one you love,
the one who doesn’t know me,
the one who cannot tell
the difference between
the brave curve
of the moon
and the silver hilled *****
of your spine
when you bend to kiss
the dead flowers
that forgot to grow
at my feet

i sleep in cages
built of the soft bones
of children unseen,
and lovers unknown.
i sleep in the arms
of the forgotten fables,
the lonely entertainers,
the weary travelers
who got lost in the rain
and could not find their way
out of the storm

suspend
your disbelief
for one moment
and see how
this moment
believes
in you

so the river came
and bled at my feet
and the river ran
and took refuge
in my heart
and the river flowed
and brought life back
to my bones

wait here,
the future
doesn’t want you.
be here,
the past no longer
needs you.
stay here,
the present
already loves you.