Corners and Crevices

An old poem from the archives.

I knelt under the moon because I finally knew it all,

the corners and crevices of the wicked mysteries of love.

And when I’d found it,

I had hailed it,

I had tailed it,

I had nailed it,

But all they ever said to me was

somehow,

I had failed it.

I hadn’t even the chance to land a loving dance,

before they gifted me harsh nettles that pricked me and stung me.

My tears, they sting me.

No one did I show

how beautifully I had flowed,

between the corners and crevices of my happiest lakes of love.

I had rained like a sweet dam pouring life where the rocks lay still.

When they had burst with the thunder clouds, I had beamed with a thrill—

I Can Love Now,

I Can Love Now.

The spark in me courted the night and blazed the world with light,

yet I muffled each crackle and bolt so they wouldn't hear the sight.

I welcomed each dissonance, so glaring it burned:

a quiet cloud, a mum flare,

a hushed storm,

until I faded.

So they seized my typhoon a whirlwind too soon.

Now I kneel under the moon,

A broken witch about to swoon.

Can I Love Now? I bay, but

the blue water in me has greyed.