This is not what was expected,
cascade of words scored by self-will,
hand ups, two-sided like a knife,
snapping silence that throws
a lasso about two hearts,
and despite hope’s desire
a distant warning that marks
a deeper shift in climate.
How to reconcile when before mutual care
remade all things, when now one leaves
with slight backward glance, and
the other allows a firestorm
to erupt inside a starless night,
tears to flood into a dark, unforgiving rain.
And as night grinds into reluctance of day
exhaustion weights four tentative arms:
how can reaching feel this little,
too frayed with muted fears;
how can so human a love
map out with precision and wisdom
the necessary, saving way?
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