Every day, I die a little – for I haven’t told you everything
Every day, I cry a little – for the beauty of you breaks me
Every day, I battle with demons that haunt my unsleeping spaces
And pray to unseen gods who pull the strings that make us dance
Or lose the chance to say or do the things we want
In you, I found and lost myself over and over again
Drained my juices and mingled my footsteps like rain on sodden earth.
Every day, I walk a little – in and out of rooms adorned by your absence
Every day, I talk a little – to myself in the fractured syntax of distraction
Every day, I watch you open and shut yourself like an old accordion
Sighing secrets and squeezing silences with the ease of exhalation
How well should I know you?
Must I drown in your depths?
How much should I love you?
Enough to let you go once more; roam free in the autonomy of being
And draggle my tortured self in loveless fields watered by tears?
What’s the point of mystery – of life, or science or geography?
Have I really changed – overwritten my being with word and thought?
Every day, I escape a little – from you and those not you
Every day, I seek the comfort of returning to myself
Like the endless rhythm of angered waves crashing on sandy beaches
Every day, every day, I hear music and madness in my head
And see an unkindness of ravens circling, wishing me dead.