We hide.

We hiss, fly away or test how mortal
a union can be. With artesian precision
we summon the dark arts of language
to poison a phrase. After we resume
our natural pace, the amour sloughs off.
We wonder what died, or, instead of death,
we examine a shed skin, another emanation
of the gooey layer. Bathe me in tears,
tempt me, again. I may run away for a while.
Every time my clenched fist opens I am holding
a green seed, the heart we share.
We’ve broken through so many metaphors:
veils, walls, skins and soil. In this moment
nothing is hidden. There is nothing to hide
here. In love’s funhouse running leads to the same spot,
fighting appears as silly as a thirsty child
crying into a cup of milk. Wave after wave
of seen and unseen energies mirror back
our yearning, accepting eyes. This is
the cradle where colors are born, where
root and branch fuse. The silent embrace
that was happening the whole time.

x

Love elephant and want to go steady?

Sign up for our (curated) daily and weekly newsletters!

Assistant Editor: Michelle Margaret

Image: Flickr