256. Haiku: Black winds and the crosses we made over our chests.

Here, why you left me:
I was the kind of monster
that made you happy.

255. It took years but it rebuilt us.

We ran through corn fields reaching towards velvet sky,

with ghost fingers at our heels while we learned

how to make the shadows move for us. I am your gravity,

the pill that helps you sleep at night. You tell me that I am brightness,

bettering. We are the pillars, the chariots, the temperance.

Once I tried, and failed, to explain what it is like

when you step into a room. How miraculous it is, the light

that fills up the cracks.

I think this took more work than you expected.

I ask to dream about you, and in the morning am disappointed

that it was only darkness. I am told,

“It will be a quiet passage through this sorrow.”

I am told to not tell you what I want, that it is not for you anymore.

I think that I am too much fire and water to live with, and never at the same time.