The Blow

Contented in the context of comfort
I am quieted by the morning light of spring
Your newly bloomed birch leaf eyes
And your hair
Longer now than my memory knew…
just of the slow sway of summer leaves
Then by the frozen breeze
dead-stained paper snowflakes fell
from the fingertips of trees
and I was sullenly relieved to be set free from attachment
Relieved to freely fall
to the grass mattress below
to disappear in the dirt and decompose

You reside (only) throughout the ripples and wrinkles of my mind
Swimming amongst the cells,
Floating by the floaters,
Bleeding from the blow
That burst my whole life
And sent it flying so high
Only to shatter and scatter
Sparkling shiny shards
Every piece shimmering in the air
Reflecting
You.

And so, with my presence, you’re present
Though you were never really here at all
And my mind makes memories
(Such a failure of freedom, for the thought of you grips to me like chains, no matter where I go)
Always branding the flesh of this town with the burnt company of you.
Brandishing new (old) love like a weapon
That could save or slaughter
An empire entrusted by you
And built better by me

And I fear
The fierceness of an army
That fought so hard
To stay afloat
Could be again diminished
By the dimness, and distrust,
And be destroyed with another tiny blow.