April 19, 2015 - 19:49
I made a home out here. Among sticks and stones, observing things through looks. An abstract painting to be felt and deciphered at the same time. But I found metaphor in things. I waited for epiphany and found only miracles.
We met in quiet, you and I. We met standing on trees. You looked for a while, watching others. I stood still. You turned and looked through me. And I became afraid. Afraid of what you saw in me. Afraid of what could be seen. And still you looked. We found each other as neighbors across the logs. Sister and brother in spring. Vulnerable, I forgot how to communicate with you. You were aware; you knew. Still, we spoke in silences. Across a mountain of boughs. Across the great divide. But we spoke anyway. And you left in deepened silence. Watching me from other trees. You made a home out here. But you lay among family whose faces I have forgotten.
We meet in quiet, you and I. And we speak in silences.
