The unearthing.

I ask myself what I really want from you.
How can I excavate my truth if you are
cemented in every passageway?

I haven't written in months;
have you missed me?
Disregard the snippets of love,
the misshapen stanzas I try to
merge into the background,
when you've always deserved
the foreground.

I know what talking with you
will reflect - the reality that there
is no neutral good or evil to our
decisions; we simply have to live
with them, either way,
to swallow any regrets,
purge the shadows,
build from what remains.

Perhaps it is the commitment of you
I cannot stomach - choosing
instead to send a message
through vessels of veins
to pull me back,

pull you back,

pull (us) back.

It doesn't matter where I go,
you follow.

I will soon plan my next
adventure, thousands of
miles away, in a land
preserved by grace,
unsullied by human gaze.

Will you be there?
Will I see you standing,
staring in wonder and awe
at the expansion of life?

Or will you hold your breath,
wait for me to disconnect,
and lament the mountains we
could have crossed hand in hand?

________________________________

Written while listening to "The Eleventh Hour" by Anne Lovett
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qjh8qsMCvlg