roots tangled beneath an ancient forest,
invisible to one another,
but drinking
from the same deep water.
Mountains seem divided
until dusk arrives.
Then shadow joins
ridge to ridge,
and what appeared as many forms
becomes one long sleeping body
beneath the stars.
Year by year
moss lays its soft mouth
against the cold face of stone,
and the stone,
ancient and indifferent,
slowly yields,
slowly blushes green.
This is how love works
across a distant field.
#vss365
separate colours
find themselves belonging
to a single sky
dark is only light
we haven't learned
and grief is love
that hasn't found its door
I laid my darkness down in furrowed rows
And left it there for morning light to read;
The field would neither answer nor foreclose
But held it, as it holds a buried seed.
The bulb that hoards its fire through the long dark,
The spider-thread that fashions, from the dew
and empty air, its unimaginable arc,
For love is what persists when all falls through,
The warmth the frozen river hides and keeps,
The one flame that its own diminishment feeds.
