Our plans, collapsing:
Our lives fall apart today,
and we cannot find the words to make it hopeful.
Our understanding brings no solace or repair,
and a storm now gathers hard about our heads
as we fade to sleep in newly single beds.
You cannot be my inspiration and I will not be your light.
I tried to give you everything.
You need to know I live to hold on, to hold on.
If I dreamt a bee sting, when I carved a gaping wound,
you made for me a sling and I tied it, truly.
You understood me, and that clearly makes it hard when I give myself to someone else's home.
You lived with me and now you live alone.
These hands of ours, they were a contract,
those pinholes were our sky.
There is no easy way from here to there;
there is no kind consideration in falling out of love,
but bless us both for trying to be there.
So hold on, hold on.
Stories in stories, lines between lines;
photos, postcards, and handwritten asides.
We are stories in stories in stories.