this love is imperfect.
crying and throbbing
trying to catch its breath.
looking at each other
for the answer.
the next move.
But our dumb minds
don’t know what’s best
or how.

we stare at each other
with tears and
crooked hearts.
this love can be so painful.
our time and words hurt.
How can wounds cause growth?

Show us the truth in that,
for now it is hard to see.
and tears and heaving,
and the weight of our flaws
do not help.

I hope these are our roots
taking place-
grabbing ahold of
the solid earth.
Growing pains.
Keeping us as one
with something.
We are battling for the
best spot to lay
each root.
Sometimes I win.
Sometimes you do.
Sometimes we both lose,
knowing that where we want
our root is not where it should be.

So, we cry,
we ache,
and we stare from across the room
looking for our hint,
our instructions,
our manual.
Why don’t we know
what this love should do?

Hugging you is easy.
This is not.
So I move to you, hug you,
and we cry together
as our hearts are pulled
in ways they should
and shouldn’t go
this side of heaven.
Remembering the imperfections of this love.

Charred flesh
redemption of form
creating ashy pigment
too large to see
our passage home
started much brighter
but our bones have
been broken and
nourishment fled
our teeth and lockets
all that remain
left to speak
universal loss.

Carolina porches
litter a broken street
creaking swings
and goodbye hugs
too normal to notice
but odd enough
to split living ends.

her face is tiled
or is it of bricks?
it is chinked with
the finest mortar
as as to last a while
but without cracks
in a sidewalk,
the city cannot breathe.

And girl girl,
watch yourself!
those deceitful
monsters will
be sure sure
to steal.
check over
the shoulders
of the masked.
and lean your head
only on the
shoulders shoulders
of men with trust
and honor between
their lungs lungs.

we sit in dark
without the light
wondering why
it isn't right

and then it's clear
wait for the day
to cleanse our hearts
and shall they stay

yet it still sticks
we won't release
we cling to hate
fall to our knees

our souls aren't straight
they fall and sin
and sit in dust
they cannot win

it is the light
which shows it all
its forgiveness
conquers the fall

never again
must we be here
with filthy souls
to bring us near

it has been done
and light will win
our souls come out
fresh to begin

I want to have deep roots
that are untouched by anything
other than the dirt.
Wholesome, hearty roots
that understand place and purpose.

I want to know, not in my bones,
but in my roots,
how to exist and simply be.
Learning to live with less
oxygen and more heart.

I want my foundations to be
firm and unchanging
to provide stability
when the shadows
and thieves come.

I want to have deep roots
that are untouched by anything
other than the earth.