My eyes opened
on an Autumn morning, drawn
to a deep loss: the fading impression
left by a familiar figure slipping out of reach.
He drifted down the hallway of the house,
which was no longer mine, always facing
away, disappearing before I could ask why
he was leaving, where he was going.
Wind whistled through the door frame as I grasped
desperately, searching for something to hold it all in,
too concerned to remember to let go; to remember
that outside is only that deeper place within.
After all the drawers were emptied, the mirror
stole my attention and I stopped, then stepped
through it, out of my head and into my body, gasping
for fresh air, reaching for the howling door.
But as I opened it, the house vanished,
leaving me naked and shivering under a
new moon, the stars pulling my gaze past
the horizon, singing our eternal hymn.
In the darkness of nowhere at all, you can feel
the distance between yourself and where you are
going, already walking before you realized
you were moving with the tide, toward that tree:
The one you dream of sinking your hands into,
sculpting its wild grain into a frame through
which you can finally see the world
opening in full bloom.