the spider web, broken to solitary strings,
clings fast to the antennae of my suv
withstanding winds, and tunnels, and turns,
and dives all the way home.

4 dead bats, huddled in the corner built into
the trap between the new and old roof. not
meticulously placed. proof that even the
smallest of creature understands death, and
the fear of leaving earth alone.

you tell me i need to be alone to grow,
to be independent. but how do I accumulate
all the years ive spent alone in the company
of others to prove that i already have?

i will never stop loving you,
but your caution has petrified me into
a state of uncertainty: too fearful to make
my own mistakes because you say you've
made them before.

i want to be fragmented light.
trailing downward on a wooden stair case,
separating each step with absence and shadow. always to return technicolor atop
the next.

you fear the darkness more than i.
i will step into it, arms stretched forward,
probing the air for familiarity,
if you'd only let me try.