I wish I could give you the key
that opens this rusty cage of ache,
or maybe wings to carry you
not so much away from hurt
but toward some garden you
long to land in. A call to summon you
toward a night-dark meadow
wide enough to twirl in
until you fall down dizzy to stare
at the star-bright sky and remember
yourself as part of the mystery.
Would even wish you a fever to burn
away all that does not serve
so you might wake trembling and new.
Or a lens that widens and widens
and widens until your story can only
be seen as a small but essential
part of the great, vast abyss
that is everything. As it is,
I have this hour. These ears.
This heart. They feel so insufficient
when what I want is to bring you
a river that forever delivers you
on the shores of belonging.
But here. Here is my time. Here,
my attention. My love. I cannot
fix a damn thing, but I hear you.
You are not alone. I hear you.