At the entrance of cold
water Pisces
the slightest of snows
as juncos echo
ceaselessly
under eaves.
If I could not forgive myself
I wouldn't hear them
for fear that they would overcome
the gap of pain I am,
I wouldn't accept another realm
as a part of me,
I wouldn't know that forms are lies
we love to truth
instead I'd believe my eyes
were the lie.
A woman on the platform
is pretending not to cry...
a man does the worrying
for two...
and if I am honest
it is only inside me,
this drama,
or it is nothing,
for it was I who decided
to separate
at some toxic nub
from everything
and watch it fall
ever farther away,
too numb to see
it must connect with love
and turn to light
inevitably.
The winter sun,
loving and cold,
pulls shadows
from all things.
