I held you in a delicate embrace.
I was blessed to be the first on Earth to see your perfect face.
I knew you were the reason for everything that ever happened.
You offered me smiles, you chased away the taste of sadness.
You slept on my chest, some nights I had with you.
Scratching me up, and spitting up on my tattoos.
To think of it now, gone forever,
I’ll never get through.
But I have to get through.
Some days I’d tell you stories as they formed inside my head.
I would paint for you a desert garden, in tones of brown and red. We’d plant it in some ancient and forgotten riverbed, fighting to find the perfect words, even knowing you couldn’t understand me yet.
I sang you to sleep and I told you about the wolf called Nasoba. Whose only dream in life was to be like his brothers.
I told you the story of the sweet Amitabha, and Samcha, her desperate lover.
I tried to show you my hope for the world, that the innocent scuttle under.
In only the shortest of time, I held you close. In my heart, and with both hands.
I want you to know who you are, and I have to know too.
Your every favorite thing and your every stumble. I want to be the Sun and the Rain as you grow.
And when there is thunder, I want to sway your fears.
I’d teach you to sing to the storm in it’s rage, “I am here.”
You are the whisper I need to shout, and the cuss to the wind that blows me out.
Like a candle, melting down into a puddle of its own universe… And I’m struggling to stay above the ocean of sand, with both hands.
As I rise and sink below the tumbling waves, I can only imagine your life, and all the ways we’re becoming like strangers. And all I can see when my head breaks the surface, are the ruins of our desolate desert garden.
And like the dry riverbed, my heart of clay slowly hardens.