04.07.17

we meet in the atmosphere
strange hours
with cold blood
and the white bones of heretics.
at the cross-roads
i found myself in the summer
of your sacred anthem
and
if we are mad
every passing ghost is something bittersweet

dear moon —
while we slip across arid lakes
and
through heaven’s inevitable extinction —
you are the bridge.
you are the force that gave birth to
soft white stones and roots unbound
you make it beautiful
you make it easier to pretend
i’ve been heard.
if sleep had come without pain
i’d have stayed
i’d have stayed.

but i can’t. the force that compels
is the one that takes away
i am caged
and always will be.

but the beating heart of the world
is in me
the long winter, and the burnt spring
i’m sorry, i’ve been too long
i’ve forgotten how it tastes
to be free.

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