Our Place Apart (Alive)

We ran out of things to run out of talking about, here, in the sitting room in my mind. It’s never been brighter, the windows shined to perfection and the sun streaming in, and we’ve even taken to propping the doors open every once in awhile. And the fire burns.

“Did you know this?” I say, and you reply, “I do.”
“But, do you know that?” I ask, and you say, “I do.”
“Did you really mean that?” you say, and I do.
“Do you understand?” you ask, and I do.

Not too much more makes sense than ever had before, but we seem to mind it less. And then there are other things, the clarity of which has nearly knocked me off the couch a few times, that I won’t ever be able to unsee again.

It’s time to rearrange the furniture. I need to make more room for you.

I have my moments, you know, where I sometimes forget there was ever a time you weren’t sitting here staring into the fire, where I could watch it bounce across your face and reflect in your eyes. I’m so happy that I am, even momentarily, able to forget the whole place ablaze, or locking away the rubble, or scurrying past this room in a hurry looking at anywhere else. But I still have moments, however fleeting, where I wonder if this remodeled sitting room is just a house of cards, and it’s all going to come falling down around me.

It’s a precarious but important state to live in. It’s a warm and comforting room for the time being. The light you bring to this place has never be so consistent, so warm, so easy to fall into. And I think, in your own way, you might be teaching me how to do it, too.


Happy Birthday Anyway

She called me
on Sunday morning
to catch up
while I walked home.

She asked me
about my
brother’s birthday
which just
happens to be
the same day as
the old man’s.

“Ja, Misi
sleeping now,”
she said,
and I could
just see the
on her face.

Ja, Misi
sleeping now.
Happy birthday
anyway, old man.


The Work

All I can do
is the work.

It’s always been
about power.

Who has it
and who
takes it and
whether or
not you can
get it back.

If I give
you power,
I still have

It’s supposed
to be a gift.
It’s not supposed
to be a weapon.

I’ve had
my power
against me
for too
long now.

I want it back.
All I can do
is the work.


Not Now

I have
all these

that I don’t
want you
to answer.

Even though
you’re the
only one
who ever

Even though
you’re the
only one
I want
to ask.

I have
all these

but I don’t
need any

Not now.
Not yet.
Not me.



It’s a gift.
And by it
I mean you.

You talk to me
and all I hear
is poetry.

So thank you.

I want to save this
for when you
need it most.
So I can give it
to you as a gift.

And then when
I need it most
you can give it
back to me.

Until giving
and getting
feel exactly
the same.