o love, you knew, and i did not.
the weather changed, the tension grew,
and all i hoped i though i knew
went crumbling away, like dust
that blows out windows towards
the distant lake.
o heart, you held on to the truth:
that seasons tell us what is real,
that what we do shows what we feel;
that words we don’t say must
like rising waters one day
a whole that lives in parts,
continuation, layered bits of starts,
a heart that knows its own, its blood,
and love that thrives, even upon the flood —
there is no other way, no happy way.
the sun went down on fading day
where once again, you chose to stay
while i some far horizon sought,
not knowing what i loved the most
was close at hand, but could be never