The moon is a sickle reflecting
you. I see the accents of
darkness which I name in blight
to all that is light and bright.
All that I was in joy that you
illuminated because I was so
focused on the burning.
On the burning of expectations.
Of the burning so bright that
I was blinded from seeing all
the shadows you transmitted to me
Shadows of restriction,
of separation, and of
stubbornly choosing leaving
and disconnect, where you
touch a love. This small love.
Where I was displaced from you
in who you thought yourself to be.
Because I can see how easeful
it would be for me to dispose
myself from entanglement. As
I am so familiar with how liberating
leaving can feel in the release.
Yet now, literate in the ways
of holding. I can now say
that honoring a messy entanglement
is the only way to healing.
To be this glitch of interdependence
in a world that systemized this
concrete individual cut off from
the rocking bodies of the world.
The rocking bodies of the world
that gravity cradles and magma
fractures. Diabase this intrusive
visitor crystallizing a reflection.
Of how I can so made of what is other.
and now, though I appreciate you,
I felt your faces. Both darkened
and in light as conglomerate.
Though now with you as a moon,
I am now holding gratitude for all that
was nearly hidden. In this apprenticeship
of darkness and vesseling, I come close
to your closing. I open to that.