This is for you. If you were waiting for a sign, this is it.
You needed to break so you will understand that you are made of fragments. And that you can be put back together.
This process—this living, this gathering of the self which has scattered—this is what is at stake, and not the pieces sliding into place.
You will never get back everything. This is the risk of living. Of loving.
You are stronger than you think.
Broken things are loveliest,
Broken clouds when dusk is red,
Broken waves where a rainbow rides,
Broken words left half unsaid.
Broken things, broken things—
How quietly they comfort me,
Riven cliffs, where I can watch
The broken beauty of the sea.
I should be wise. One way or the other.
Those Who Love
Those who love the most,
Do not talk of their love,
Deirdre, Iseult, Heloise,
In the fragrant gardens of heaven
Are silent, or speak if at all
Of fragile, inconsequent things.
And a woman I used to know
Who loved one man from her youth,
Against the strength of the fates
Fighting in somber pride,
Never spoke of this thing,
But hearing his name by chance,
A light would pass over her face.
Another day, thinking of kisses.
Strephon kissed me in the spring,
Robin in the fall,
But Colin only looked at me
And never kissed at all.
Strephon’s kiss was lost in jest,
Robin’s lost in play,
But the kiss in Colin’s eyes
Haunts me night and day.
Ah, this day is finally over. I crawl to my bed, exhausted. But I dream of you still. I dream of you still.
We are apart; the city grows quiet between us,
She hushes herself, for midnight makes heavy her eyes,
The tangle of traffic is ended, the cars are empty,
Five streets divide us, and on them the moonlight lies.
Oh are you asleep, or lying awake, my lover?
Open your dreams to my love and your heart to my words.
I send you my thoughts–the air between us is laden,
My thoughts fly in at your window, a flock of wild birds.