Storms, pt. I

We’ve been holding one candle

to quiet interludes

barely speaking but for the shadows on the wall

setting shapes of words

—just a flicker

a smoldering wisp

cut from the tunneled wick of vulnerability

Truly, in all its depth

I wanted

so badly

to make it yours

But instead quickly buried it

far from us both

and now, what is left?

Vulnerability exhumed

the living smoke

allows the lantern of surprise

to be easily ignited

by the flame

It becomes the coastal beacon

that calls forth memory of storms past

back to the plummeting cliffs

like haunting spirit vessels

course charted

only, again

for devastation

Like a broken stone siren

those spells I cast

were unprepared serenades

wild and raw notes

afraid of breaking more ships

afraid of smashing the beacon

afraid of calling up the truth

afraid of being

the creature that I am