Cedar

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Needle
by
needle,
the forest pricks my skin
to remind me I’m still alive,
and drafts of winter
crawl up my sleeves,
warning me to stay awake
because

the world doesn’t end when I close my eyes.

Dreams take form in the fresh, splintered air,
while my mind clears the mist,
so I’m able to climb
where I can feel
your auras,
hiding amongst
the leaves.

I see
you’re scared
to reveal
your true colors
before the spirits.

Darkness wavers
with the dewdrops of the
sorrow and sparrow wings
we’ve shed below the soil layers.

But I promise if you try
the shadows will do no harm.

They only reflect the other half of you:
empty and alone,
searching for someone
to grant you life,
a whiff of reassurance,
that everything will be okay
in these woods
no one has ever claimed for themselves.

Branch
by
branch,
the smell of cedar
emanates
as I suspect
you come
closer to my bones,
aching erythronium;
lavish lotus spells.

When I’m upon
the crown
of the
tallest tree,
I wait
longingly
for your voice
to touch the sky
and then
send sensations
of red
where

love develops deep
within the roots—
the nerves, the fireflies
that make us human.

Filaments

filaments

Pressing my hands
against the edges of my jean pockets,
I sit on the opposite side of the bench
inches apart
from you.

Hanging by a thread,
we both know there’s a lot less in hope in the seams,
than there used to be.

I wonder
which one of us
will be the first
to let
them
go.

I’m not smiling at the incentive,
not crying over the present,
though our heart muscles’ strain is relentless,

I won’t give up on love
just yet.

We experienced so many moments together,
took milestone risks and veered straight through the pressure.
So what happened to all that time?
I’d wish for anything to make it play on forever,
but that’s only if you’re willing to
keep the threads strong.

Because I don’t want to end up threadbare,
stripped thin of every vein I own.
I can’t imagine you finding a replacement,
another heart for your home.

Hanging by a thread,
our exhales grow a little larger,
while your spirits struggle to get high,
but out of all the melancholy,
a lamp post lights up the dark
across bittersweet foliage.
I’m hoping it will give you a sense of mind,
and maybe a second chance for us to grip onto
our heartstrings
once again.

Blue Fatigue

My realm
rains a little dimmer
without the light
from your tears.

Time no longer glows.

The memory
of your voice lures me
into blue fatigue

where my head isn’t getting any stronger
and
my heart
is fetching consolation
in the breeze,

Succumbing to those senses,
I fall fatal for the rush,
becoming lost
within
the depths of devotion,
and power
of love

we blew out
before dark.

A Theory of Light

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Under pine tree bedtime bristles,
did you ever think
to look above
at the sky
for a sign
—a hunter’s arrow—
seeking light?

Where collective stardust
fuses our dreams
before motley divine,
and tomorrow’s seasons
hail a sacrificial lover
toward the divide,
I bend and scrape my
way past evergreen war knives.

So many years have gone by,
without my spirit nestled near your side.
So many days have met their plight
because I couldn’t dare to breathe
when I no longer felt alive.

Out of the mist,
and shooting against goodbye blue,
I pray now to glory, I can make it through and through,
carrying my last brittle words,
bundled for you.

How I wish I could harness back my body,
that human corpse you once adored,
to relive what it’s like
to feel the inner locomotion of a heartbeat,
the rush of a storm embedded in my veins,
instead of lonesome river rock rapids,
pounding vibrations interfering with my ray.

The closer I get, the closer I am to relinquishing my luster,
you could be anywhere here.
So I’m forcing myself to embrace the unknown,
the call of the wild shall steer
me to your bow.

But as soon as I cross your path,
will you know who touched your sleeve,
or will I just become another
theory of light?
A prophetic ember
reborn to cede?