night poem

utter certainty
that you know best what you need
to be happy now

the startling sunset
coloured flowers hang over
the rim of the pot

the cat keeps finding
perfect spots of cool shade or
hot sun to lie in

a respite of fine
grey cloud masked the sky last night
covering the stars

gradual

like an old tree
gently grows day by day and
ring by perfect ring

hope

the thought comes to me
that perhaps there is more happiness
with someone who isnt you

that if, even if we could have worked through
the distortions, wounds, lack
because of all the love,

still
next time

there is the possibility
that none of those pain-bearers
but all of the love

will exist

and that will bring joy, not sadness
and that will be more than we had, not less
and I deserve every chance of that-
not paying the price for so little.

that you were not an answer to questions I didnt ask
or anything more than
a person

lights

I realise suddenly-
that's how long it takes for
my adult-child heart to hear you leave-
(weeks after the door closes for the last time)
that your lack of words
mixed messages
conflicting feelings
were only that way because you lacked words 

which would leave you looking blameless,
were only mixed messages 

because you could not speak your truth
were only conflicted feelings because you wanted

relief from guilt and absolution
that you lacked a bolt-hole, not a home.

that my confusion was because you needed to- wanted to- leave 

but couldn't take being seen packing your baggage, 

making pathways, 

and walking away.

I can imagine how heavy it was to wear that mask everywhere, 

even at home.
How burdening to feel that I might see through it, 

even when you didn't want me to. 
So you came home less, and threw up screens and shades when there.

I tried to find you but you wanted obscurity from me- visibility elsewhere. 

I misunderstood your- and my- distress. 

Cages and windowpanes and birds beating against barriers. 

I thought we were outliving a drought, when you were surviving a drowning.

All I ever wanted was honesty- truly.
We didn't need to lose ourselves in some fantasy of inevitable entrapment or violent disillusionment. You really were enough without the disguise. 

You really could have chosen the exact intimacies that held your heart free. 

You really could choose to no longer stay, or want to go or come to the end of your love.
You could have owned that you weren't happy and wanted out. 

But you thought I wouldn't be able to let you.

All I ever wanted was honesty: I feel this but not that. 

I want those and not these. 

I love there and not here.

Honest courage, serene acceptance, wise decisions.

But after years of faking yes and no
into a labyrinth of denial
blocking every vent
door
light fixture
there was no other way for you to
avoid
everything catching up with you
except secrets, silence, insincere solace, 

followed by rage, strong enough to punch your way through walls, and escape.

I never realized my wide love could be a cage to anyone, 

that my secret fears could be a lock with no key 

or my desire a bolt on the door.

short term memory loss

to keep on breathing
I sometimes pretend you dont
exist, never did.

grey

what's it like
for the one who leaves
and the one who stays
trapped
under a collapsed home
trying to breathe
with lungs
filled with ashes and
dry dust

is the energy of your world
holding and moving with you
into love, community, connection
a life of relief and lightness
new everything

because here
in our bed- my bed,
in our home- my home,
it's a gravesite
where I'm digging the grave
being buried
and mourning
all at once

it's dusk on the longest night
shadows, and cold air
no shoes
wet matches
hard ground

low tide

you used to wash in and out
like the tide

from work or friends
(I nearly went mad trying to hold on to water)
but now
the moon is gone
a bleak, empty shore

rocks and ground usually under water

exposed, dry, creature-less

as if a tsunami or a hurricane was building over deep ocean

and taking every drop of water for fuel

except it's not:

its a drought

its a cosmic catastrophe

you wont return

in a storm surge

to this place.

time heals

Just waiting for time to pass
letting the hours drain away
all of this unending sadness

small again
contracted into the middle
of my life, around the pain
unable to occupy it's length and breadth
retreating rather than surrendered

adrift and stuck
at the same time

graveyard

These days are a long procession of grief,
a suicide of mourners,
some wailing
some weak-legged
some entombed in silence
doggedly treading ground
towards the grave.

Not that I die inside because I believe I cannot love: I can.
Not that I fight to breathe because loneliness will suffocate me forever: It won't.
Not that my skin crawls because it won't find pleasure again: I will.
I already know
in my bones
in my heart
in my gut
how love changes form endlessly
and is never lost, or limited.

I move
I breathe
I come
I melt
I exist

even as pieces of me
awakened by you
dissipate
like rock poured into sand,
did.

a strange alchemy
dying while alive
living while dead

thankfully
a deeper wisdom
that wipes out species
that mushrooms from decay
that suckles orphaned bear-babies on a fox-mother
that burns proteas into being
also burns in me.

post

every day the words get fewer
dissolving
everything that was
I hear echoes of blame
the things you said
the actions you took
everything that's lost
fuels my sadness
in this moment
this day
you do not exist
and neither do any of the parts
of me
that knew you

insomnia

another night of
no rest
since your final leaving.
falling asleep is impossible
till after the witching hours
then
I'm awake
in the dark dark
conflicted about sunrise

I dreamed of you last night
at the door
you came in
we talked
deep relaxation in my body
lightness returned in my breath
at some point
you closed the distance
and our bodies were touching
everything was OK again
home was right there

I noticed in my dream
that I was dreaming this
in the bed we used to share
I was finally asleep
resting easy again, Love.

I turned from thinking about myself dreaming-
to enjoy your company
just for a little bit
just visiting
we laughed at something
together
I felt at peace
after so long
my body soft against the mattress
the covers holding me
gentleness spreading over me
like a blanket

the sight of your hands
just there
so familiar
so tender
so beautiful
I was in awe
of their grace

waking up
was saying goodbye again
but my body
had taken courage
so I stayed still a bit longer
eyes open
feeling us
giving thanks
resting a bit

morning came
checking my phone
no reply yet from you
reality off balance
under the weight of
your absence
all my breath
tied into knots
below the lungs
body yearning
to ground

End of the end

8 thirty five
15 January 2018
I dont want words, my old friends,
to write this down
to turn the sounds of our life
into the record of her final leaving
it seems too intimate a betrayal
to use words
to touch this pain
and
hold it
between gut and heart and head
immobile
paint it across the paper
I want to keep the pain outside
myself
my life
a bit longer
I dont want to read it
orderly
sentence over sentence
it's a wild death
in her jaws
neck crushed
softness torn
dazed
while hot
blood
creeps relentlessly
over
everything.

brave

Should I be brave like
Neruda's lone cherry tree
waiting for the spring

or like Oliver's
wild geese, a poetry in
motion in the sky,

Was Rumi braver
when Shams arrived or was it
only when he went?

Isnt it as brave
to just keep breathing, work, eat,
be willing to sleep,

and wake up again
regardless of season,
sky, lover's leaving?

Is holding the line
braver than surrendering
to an enemy?

Meditation brave,
poetry and singing brave,
brave like forgiveness.

Brave like weeping on
waking to her gone- love, with
no hope of return.

sanity

its surprising what
keeps me sane and what turns out
to be meaningless

days

she used to lie between us
like an ocean
of mystery,
storms,
a cold north sea,

and now its
18 days
and counting
since I saw your face

all the wild love
draining
from us
out through the choices you've made
into the ground you've stood
incomprehensible to me
depending on which truth I put to my ear

an egg shell life
beads bought but ungiven
new eases I want to tell you of
but they're no longer shared
just mine

another meeting
in a new room
the story gains
around it's middle
although I no longer
recognise
which way is left or right
and still the questions go unanswered
though the stillness remains

I last saw your face
so many dates ago
I've forgotten what to look for

I dont even recognise myself
the long conversation
is now the longer silence
squirrels no longer bring messages
from the trees

favourite
has a strange taste
and
the nights come in multiples
before dawn finally
lets me go

this ending
unending
and over.

home-coming

I arrive with dread,
a deep knot in my heart
(how can a knot be of emptiness)
that's been with me for days,

but our home is not yet empty
of you.

You've not managed to finish
packing your things
your washing
is hanging
where it always hangs
but you are not here
and I won't see you
dressing that beautiful body
at the foot of our bed
wearing them
or feel your naked skin against me,
anymore.

I clean
and pile
all of your things
in your study:
I count one, two, three gifts I gave you
that you were
going to leave behind.

I find a simple joy
in weeding this garden
of unnecessary objects.

The weight of knowing
we could have done all this
without bearing the heavy load
of your leaving
enlarges the pain in my heart.

There are echoes
in every direction
of choices, words, possibilities
not made or spoken.

Every plan you've made for leaving
has broken
been delayed,
even rain in a drought has fallen,
but you
keep forcing your way forward
struggle
vibrating along
the web of our lives
as we hold on
and up
into our hearts
to add more layers
more load
squeezing the love
into other colours,
cousins,
like
longing
and compassion
and endurance
and long-suffering surrender.

This home is full to overflowing
with you
and you are not here anymore.
I wonder to myself
if this place has such trouble
letting you go
how will I: body, heart, mind, spirit
ever do it?

morning after

this day's been coming
like a wave, a death, a fire
and now it is here.

the end

Your last night in our bed
my grief does not end
just comes in waves, tides, currents
no matter where I am
the river meets the sea
of my longing
for you
and your leaving
is
like drowning

hogsback haiku

butterflies carry
my heavy words upwards to
the tall dark redwoods

full moon

you are everywhere
in moonrise, firefly, music-
I miss you deeply