Hope
like the grip of gravity,
like a cage around the mind,
like river rapids
capsizing my peace.

Thought I would text her,
ask how she was doing
because it had been a little bit.
Just never prepared myself
to receive silence.

It’s not coming together
as it once seemed it might,
like always.
I’m not ready
to go under again,

the very reason I wanted
to be done with wanting.
I was so on guard, shielded
from the cry of the hurting,
the voice of Jesus.

Then I ran heartfirst
into something so desirable,
my convictions shattered
on the stones of reality;
lungs filled with water.

People in need are my weakness
because they might want me around.
I create the lie, the story,
the river with its flow
but I can’t get rid of boulders

even before she creates
more innocent disruption
through general affection,
a light hug, shoulder squeeze.
God I want more.

The current has me good now
and the only way out
is to be carried by the river
afloat or not–
love or fear–

until I’m deposited
into some moonless ocean
far from myself
or dry land to cling to.
Fodder for the sharks.