I am not lonely

I am not lonely; I am alone,

though you would likely never know

for all the sound and fury, chaos and light

that fills my days and chokes my nights.

I am not falling apart; I am many parts-

emotions and habits, experiences, art,

bandaged together by a fragile gravity

that I call my self (mystery though she may be).

I am not broken; I am breaking down

the distance between who I thought I needed to be

to be loved and accepted in this world we call home,

and the messy, lovely child of God that is laughing through tears within.

Arroyos Secos

Oh snap.

I allowed myself to be drawn,

like an unwitting child following the distant call of the ice cream truck,

to this place I did not want to be.

Every crevice of this unforgiving territory

is bathed in the intimacy of familiarity:

the dark, warm hollows that offer their dubious shelter and

the golden hills scraped bare in the glare of a pitiless sun.

I could embrace my solitude here, carry on companionless,

and no thing would stand in my way.

But wild things make their presence known–

they drop their feathers from the vault of the sky,

leave pathways through the thickets choking the ground

that lead to arroyos secos I myself could never hope to find.

They warn me of that which I must not forget:

There is no surviving here,

for the land is not unkind, but neither is it forgiving.

The Rhythm of Waiting

What happens next–

after anguished letters

and halting words,

fraught conversations over pints in the pub

and strained silences which suffuse this room

where we lay our bodies down each night

in solitary solidarity

wondering: can this last?

Where do we go when we cannot go from here?