Finally, you stop. This heat sinks thick around you.
You collect the broken parts that have returned as separate shards of meaning.
Some you tuck under your heart, others you tie like leashes to unsteady things.
Rest.
There is no running now.
You begin to wonder whether being there, not here for so many years was a kindness
Being here now, your body ripened and finally yours, feels unforgiving
You remember the caves in the old country. The way you hurled your voice and waited for its return, imagining there were more of you to love.
You thought of the way they sat and sat, the men of dirt and air, catching words from the sky.
They said
They knew your name
They knew who you would love
When you would love
And for how long
They knew which disaster marked which year of whose life and whose hands would reach for you and whose love would make you whole and for how long.
Things already written kept you safe and hidden.
Now, it is all here.
Every bit of love laid bare,
every voice that would have called your name out of the night, each one you have answered, again and again, until the name was no longer yours.
No need to run now, the space under your skin itches. Everything is here. Stubborn, hot and restless.
The cloud is pinned
The sun is pinned
Nothing moves
Everything fades
all is known.
After the last love.
Walk With Me 