the mountains are a physical
embodiment of our closure;
a firm period, marking the ending
of something.
the deep, rolling valleys–
the never-endingness to
the Godly fading of the
distance–reminds me
that though things end,
there is something about everything
(the whispers, the words,
the touching, the crying,
the laughs,
the solace)
that continues, eerily…

the only woman i’ve loved
tells me she loves me, but
does her love expand
through the trenches?
does it give into the hollowing?
there is sweat and sand,
wet hair and salty faces,
tears and condolances.
i don’t know what this is,
but i am in love with this.
there is a stillness
in the way we move.

i bless this sad, queer loneliness
between us; i bless it
like i bless the Earth,
softly, like all will be
lost. the gentleness of
my touch and my words
are a forbidden prayer
that everything will last,
endless like the valley…

the wind…

the pines…

the dirt…

the river…

the birds…

the honeysuckles…