denial
A few hours with the rain trailing past, the front porch hit with ladles and mists, the cold trying to hide in my bones. In this ache and weather I know you return here, these fitful words, these blurted hesitations. My chilled fingers tangle with key and symbol, the least effort another oddity, old habits hollowed out and filled with new mistakes. All the years and these gathered thousands of miles. You look for me in the smoke and rain.
The day decays into flights and embers, the storm sifting through the wind and sky. Outside I spit and cough, inside shrug and type. For every error an emblem, for every task a tool. I am always missing something at the moment. I am always somehow lost or late. My name arrives, as always, on your lips, and I swear the rain just changed. I hear your voice and I swear no dream is more longed for or bitter-sweet.
Though I am broken, I am certain of another day. Though I am worn clean through, I am certain you see something more. The way you watch the night through sleepless windows, thinking of that season. The way you read so slowly when you think it is you I mean. I almost believe these dull-eyed prayers, writing as it rains in pails. I almost think you are the answer, just because it is all I can do not to ask.
A few hours with the rain trailing past, the front porch hit with ladles and mists, the cold trying to hide in my bones. In this ache and weather I know you return here, these fitful words, these blurted hesitations. My chilled fingers tangle with key and symbol, the least effort another oddity, old habits hollowed out and filled with new mistakes. All the years and these gathered thousands of miles. You look for me in the smoke and rain.
The day decays into flights and embers, the storm sifting through the wind and sky. Outside I spit and cough, inside shrug and type. For every error an emblem, for every task a tool. I am always missing something at the moment. I am always somehow lost or late. My name arrives, as always, on your lips, and I swear the rain just changed. I hear your voice and I swear no dream is more longed for or bitter-sweet.
Though I am broken, I am certain of another day. Though I am worn clean through, I am certain you see something more. The way you watch the night through sleepless windows, thinking of that season. The way you read so slowly when you think it is you I mean. I almost believe these dull-eyed prayers, writing as it rains in pails. I almost think you are the answer, just because it is all I can do not to ask.