Yesterday I believed ‘inherent’ was
a foundation, one made of something
tauter than all the bridges on this river.
.
Yesterday ‘inherent’ was something
star-fallen like gold, without our ‘wordly
origin’, illogical even in its worth.
.
Yesterday I didn’t sleep, inherently awake
and at odds, split lipped in the head
without a single fight to my name.
.
Yesterday I cried as I wandered
alone, missing myself as
something external, the maternal side
of my story at an end.
.
There’s no need to seek it or
bend it, sleep through it, or rub it away;
must only feel it and take it.
.
These fingers twitch, because I heard his words to you,
wide awake, clawing at spiders and night birds,
ripping through these curtains, where at least a part of this began.
.
Sorrow comes in sevens but I’m not there yet,
only halfway returned and unplugged no longer,
toying with your silver ring, spinning it on my finger,
daily from now on.
.
Yesterday I heard ‘love’, but not as a song, just a thing,
comical, as are we until then end, when we float like the debris of these bridges;
the first incarnations from so many wars ago.
.
We float like the sons and daughters, spread out and drifting but not inherently,
more like candidly, tart and courteous, trading thoughts and maybe some stories,
sad as ever, lost from the bones on out, but finally free.
.
Yesterday we weren’t, and today we are.
There’s no need for anything more.
