Sleeping on the couch again, passing each other in the kitchen again, kindness masking the radical healing we neither one of us know how to manage. Wordiness is being, dialogue is being, okay then, what is non-being? Falling to my knees not in prayer or surrender but defeat. Whatever has to end in me Christ let it end in me. Not one more step through this godforsaken valley alone. Please.
Oh look, there's the moon again. There's the blind horse walking slowly through the pasture again.
Yet another poem only you know how to read again.
There are no flowers around here in February. Rosary prayers don't work anymore. The poor stay poor, the rich get rich. The frozen lake groaning at dawn, our tracks all over it like scripture.
This ice, it does not last forever.
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