Of ears

And what are the words of permanence.

Of disarray

The things that lay thick and syrupy against a sticky August windshield. The sweat beams on your forehead and tattered droplets of rain congregate in the shadows.

You can never take it back.

You can only say

I’m sorry. 

I didn’t mean it

I changed my mind

I was wrong

Forgive me.

But the ears that have bent under the breadth and the pain.

You can never remove the weight of your words.

And don’t I know it better than you.

Haven’t I heard the thing that rips your frame from its bones

Your soul a wry torrent coercing and staggering in the sunlight 

Caught on a limb, on a dime, in the heated breeze.

And haven’t I been that? That sickening angle. The phrase that bleeds in your mouth as your lips come across your teeth.

You don’t even mean it. As you lose your train of thought.

But he deserves it.

You should mean it.

You should be able to mean it.

And that is the truth.

Though you love him too much to ever want him to hurt that badly.

The way you have hurt.

And that, is the truth.

And the thing that should never be said. 

It’s too awful. Kindness will swallow you whole little girl.

And will fear. And love. And rage.

Be quieter than you have been.

And wait. 

Wild love

We’ll call it a summer of wild love

Of reckless decision making

And frightful abandonment.

A hollow. Swallowed up by darkness and crying out with bold and fearless screeches and yodels into the nighttime.

The cracks in the valley

The light shining in

Losing all kinds of love

Fighting desperately for yourself.

Your self.

Alone not lonely. 

Lonely, not alone. 

And one. 

That heart within my heart. 

That permanent marker. 

That beautiful soul.

 That dear and broken creature. 

Throw the driftwood into the river, and watch it float down stream. Fluid, out of control. Perfectly spiraling. 

Is it safe, does it matter if it knows where it will land?

Or only that it will arrive in one piece.