lines on paper, crossed

 

This is not a crack in your armor.
This is not a mirror, old and unpolished.
This is not debt or reason.
This is not something broken open,
its insides stolen out.

This is the talent found in stars,
a beauty forever bright and burning,
fire without ash –
a compassion stretched out,
a truth lit like copper.

Do not forget that a song
is built with a single note,
a change pitched out into silence,
breaking through empty space,
lines on paper, crossed.
Was it always there, waiting
to be created?

I want what happens when the world stops,
when the clock breaks and time
falls out; I want the sleek dark
of hearts caught in revelry;
nothing too perfect or too neat,
nothing locked or lukewarm –
I want what howls, what is full of flame.

No more going away.
No more holding back.
No more half-executed alchemy.
No more getting by.
No more taking a step back.

I want a love that lives,
beyond its threat to die.

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