rendition

it was not until barren plains
made a home in me,
lips were chewed
from the search for something
I didn't and could never possess
(I thought)
 
endlessly, I felt awash, 
chiseling new geography
my dusty visage changed posture,
carving numbers into my spine
 
I found an answer
 
(but was it too little too late?
pink lines marked a path
but still, I hadn't wanted to see,
I clenched my hands
and strange visions of whiteness
lined every road I traveled ...
 
I never looked,
choosing instead
with a single embrace
to seduce the dark,
always thinking,
I could have whatever
end of beginning I sought)
 
all it would have taken
was one step into light,
and my agony
would have eased
 
my truth was finding
that nothing is ever over,
in the living of a life
is the morning of death
perpetually
 
I now see threads of ourselves
wind around the hand of mother-time,
remembrance being her art
 
but now, I forgive without thought
sliding between her fingers,
 
unclenching mine