spotless

why does the rush and torrent of the soul
so seldom break out from beneath our skin
we’ve got trigger hair tempers and mistaken ire
carrying the carcass of truth in our hands
obscuring the light, that although never fading,
can dim until we can no longer see in the dark.
blindly we reach with our hands and will grasp
anything near, even the necks of our beloved,
desperate to keep the old adages true,
that we are flawed and broken-winged
that the lines in our paper hands can never be
unfolded or uncreased, that the ink that dries
beneath our fingernails will never fade.
go soak your hands in the salty ocean,
knowing to move when the tide comes in,
betraying not a single grain of sand with
your footprints because we are carried
forward by the wind, and we leave no trace–
not even the sun will recognize us at dawn,
unmade and spotless in the light.

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not everything broken

the seed has been planted
the willow will wave
the redwood will tower
and the oak will be strong
against your back

this is how you learn
how to lose anger
how to keep sadness spacious
that space within the heart
that knows its own death
yet rejoices

pour yourself like water into clear glasses
let them drink from you
and see their own reflections
and know who they are

the glass is most beautiful
right as it slips from your hand
right before it hits the floor
right when it shatters

not everything broken
begs to be fixed.