Wrapped up against the
Ancient cold of dead stone
Backstage in the palace ruins,
We invent fantastical creations
Each drawn on the dust at our feet,
Once perfected we scrub it clean.
Each day undone, a mandala of memory.
Remember when our chaos fitted so elegantly
How to love entropy,
When your tent collapses under love for the stars.
That threatening map of an open sky
Look at us all drifting
Bright Morning Stars
Netted across the expanding dark.
How our tongues wrapped around the emptiness
And our melodies swept across the black sea.
Gathered around the lighthouse,
We sang ourselves into searing clarity.
Out of friendships
And out of homes.
We will not storm in doorways.
We will not panic attack each new loss.
All we could want will fit back into our backpack
At the end of the month.
I will not carry your dismissal with me,
Or your closed minded attempts at openness.
Because with the gate between a herd of cows and us
We were feared equally.
No wet snout to greet outstretched palm.
We all intended peace,
Despite the chips in their ears.
Just as we intended awe on the Ocean
Who would spit us out and then engulf us
At each pull of tide.
The loved who will abandon and return
The ache in goodbye
is not the door locked behind
But left hanging open.