One window invites the world
to light my dark corners,
offering benevolence whose arms
hold me closer than you ever did.
One window is all I need.
One window pours butter here,
and motes move slanting
across my skin, showing my face
where it is safe to smile.
One window illuminates
the blight of shadows.
I am among a world of foreigners,
struggling through days that shift
underfoot. Moments toll like prayer,
sway invitation like fields of seaflowers,
beautiful as they are deadly to navigate.
They cut me, blood wells
even as the ocean sings love songs,
sparkling sharp in sapphire pools.
When I crash in waves at the strand,
mourning the shards and shells
of soul, echoing the ocean’s wake,
I love. I must love.
Ask the mirror if it remembers
faces hidden in the heart, bright
or fading, near gone, but faintly
there, drawn in lines at my eyes.
Ask why loneliness gathers still
as a lake, cradled, cupped in palms.
When you reach heaven, will you
speak for every flower ever crushed?
Speak to me. Do not look away.
Pour your words on the warmth of my hands.
Move your lips on my refuge of glass.
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