8.31.23

the hard part     now 
was being alive again 
learning     to     be     unalone 
awake to     the burgeoning, 
quiet        ly 

unfolding     of things, 

constantly
mistaking     and being mistaken     for. 

yes,     the opposite of     hatred 
is     remembering.  

yes the opposite 
    of dying, 

unbearably,     is loving, 
which feels     almost like its    sister, 

love being the         shadow of     death, 

and death,     that house     we all come from 
    and return     to. 

that place where     angels   live, 
where tears are     born. 

here:
among friends, we are     sitting 

in the backseat. 

look:
my hand     brushing your     thigh, 

and your     fingers     
    reaching     for mine 

in the dark. 

outside: 
     the     passing lights, 
illuminating us     for just 

a  moment.