The Ash and the Spring

I watch the tension of colorless forms before me
They make advances at each other, smothering the in-between Like two faces moving near for a kiss
It’s wonderfully slow
I grow unsettled in the waiting
But it’s not two faces they are my hands

I watch.

I keep imagining the water and the tree
I need them near to know their being on my frame
I press the particulates harder and harder into my hands This is how I feel them
This is how I know them in ways I can longer 

The water says to me,

–I make the salty sea sweet.
–I make the city glad.

I long for this –I long for her.

The tree tells to me,

–My leaves are for healing.

So I grind the mountain ash into my flesh
I push and press the stinging cinders
I need whatever breath I can have from him

I ache to feel them both on my face.

The grey film covers me, bruises me, buries me I hear my heart beating in my chest
I hear the blood rushing in my head
There is patience here and protection