Canyoneering, a poem.

At twilight, when the sky is neither light or dark

My heart senses the weight of you-

I could explain it, I could justify it all.

But I’d rather blame myself-

How I couldn’t decipher which territory to perform

On either side of your borderline

And so, I botched it.

My person now switches from second to third

as I set sail from an island…

Was that who he was then?

The objective one who finally ended it?

The one, free of emotion and thus response

Or something more sinister

There is an art to being ignored —

I’m flailing on its mute canvas like a frantic fly

In the web of a spider, not quite hungry yet

I remember

He couldn’t look at me

when he mentioned his father

And how could I expect he

build love on a foundation of loss

Like a cliff meets the sea.

I wish he saw salvation, not storms,

in my eyes,

where he coveted a wickedness

he couldn’t understand,

a softness that swallows.

like Daddy’s right shoulder blade round and blunt

when he walked away,

every time hoping, but fearing, he’ll return

. . .

We go canyoneering to spy on waterfalls.

The tread of wet stone

Only our feet grace

from harnessed heights

all the way down

we dread the actual falling,

we have little courage for the thing itself

At bottom, experience is only the nascent blur of memory

which holds little promise

. . .

Sometimes majesty is too terrible

and succumbing would force us to change

the way we love

which we’ve inherited

and it feels so right, in pain

like my father’s fists

In the same way, I’m addicted to you

like the back of your fathers head

standing here now, your scent still on me,

I know you now more deeply than ever.

At the sharpest ridges of your rock precipice

your wordlessness is my love letter