Ruins
A poem about damaged relationships
we meet in the ruins of the day
rooftop water towers crimson
streets filling with purple
a pale concrete bench in the park
flickering in delicate shadows
and we sit, together but not touching
eyes wary
aimed to avoid contact
words are munitions between us
and when you say, “It’s good to see you,”
I examine it for irony or sarcasm
and we’re off, edging into the minefield
twisting within the Möbius of our relationship
our world lines run parallel
but on a collision course,
we carry soul compasses but wander lost
knowing the other was the one who guided us
and kept us strong, mindful and life-filled
and we are both still willing
to explore the inner depths again
believing we’d find magma at the core
if only we could take the first step,
if only one of us would surrender
