sparks from the threshold

i came out to see you running away and across the street, i did not know where you were going or why, you had left your shoes and backpack in the cubicle, i was crying pacing between the library rows , i had ducked myself under the library desk to weep and had not said a word to you since you arrived perhaps that is why you left 

i came out into the alleyway after seeing you run and i smeared golden yellow pollen hands on the wall, i touched the roots and begged them to move, i opened the door and let fresh air in 

from which direction does the air come from 

i said 

i want an eastern air 

a wind that comes from the east 

bringing with it change, dawn, and spring 

the love in my heart, breaking and bursting through, i do not know how to communicate to you , what i am feeling or where it hurts, because it hurts all over 

and some days i am sad to say that i choose to give up 

surrender my life to the setting s(u)n and allow myself to be taken down into the darkness of what is not known yet, of a void space i cannot fill, and sometimes i am happy being with myself and having only my words to say things that do not can not carry you care you you cared and people like to look and i wonder and my face is pushed and i remember your coyote eyes and what really is time when we are laughing together and swerving in and between story and hope 

i cannot despair enough to bring you back, to bring this back to me, i can only let go and with a spacious sigh allow , allow what i see to be seen, and hide myself, i guess this is what the tarot was meaning, this morning, hide, yourself, grace, for there are, monsters, lurking

i know that your possessions are not important to you so perhaps you will not even come back for them 

perhaps i will be left here, holding your things, without you coming back

i no longer wish to hold your things 

i no longer wish to wear you into bed every night 

after three years of you not being 

someone (she) inside of me, goes into a terror cave and does not want to come out unless provoked very slowly and with a soft hand 

and always: there arises in me, an impulse to be a stranger in a strange city writing and watching co arising with a desire to be held in a circle of hands who i know and trust 

and i wonder: 

how do you 

hold your wounds?