We wander winding webs of want,
wondering if what we wish for is worth the weight.
We parse possibilities, promise, and pain,
build brittle barricades of borrowed belief,
count the constellations crossing the canvas of our chests,
summon silent shadows with syllables sharp as salt.
Blue hour bears its burden
bone-deep, bruised, and brimming with borrowed wisdom
Is it knowledge to know how knotted the night can become?
Or just another careful calculation,
a theorem of thirst spelled out in tangled tongue
so the world won’t witness our weeping.
But the sky is pale and empty now.
The light arrives before we’re ready.
and all I know
is that I love you.