You sleep while I write words of love I keep hidden, jewels of no profit
that’s what they always say
You cried once in your dream, I stroked your arm, but you didn’t know I was there
There’s a jagged chasm between us, of my doing, you’d say.
I don’t see the goddess; your perfect one.
I see the judging, the ego, the selfish,
the ghoul who creeps where death is near
who negotiates fate.
I have grown tough. I have grown vulnerable. I rage too much. I weep too often.
And then, I meditate on the chirps of purple martins in the evening sky
I sleep alone, listening for thunder in the night and brutal winds and soft rains that never come.
And I do this