Sunrise Stories.

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 dewdrops stain my pillow instead of the patch of grass we sat on that spring morning. a translation of every moment’s invocation in your presence, my love, has filled my day. how longing sliced each beam of light into infinite fractals, subtle enough to strike this soulful unearthliness into a harmonious chord.

but the morning after is filled with all the fractals you’ve left for me, humming the heartsong of two hearts enlivened with a gift from God, unravelling in a dream-like pace, shifting things in their place. 


and so every particle in me is weighed under the enormity of it, and there’s pain. I will not tolerate the sun-up haunted by the memory of it, its secrets an outpouring, just like a gaze.


and so this sunrise, this gaze has left me broken, dear heart. my brokenness the kind that breathes the polarities and loves past the breaking point.  I see myself and I’m not sure I recognise those wide eyes, their vessels expanding in the orbit around what it sees in your universe.


every moment toiling to keep it, and I’m battling the tides whenever I turn away. it has me seeded in this garden— blooming, fruiting and glimmering in all the receivership there is in giving gifts. 


how many mornings after this will I shy away from the sun, afraid to forget your song. how many mornings will I tear, cleansing what fights your gaze, forevermore.


the gaze 

may 2022

going with grace in an inscrutable world.

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