Implosions
In the dead of winter we planted seeds that grew into grenades.
Despite it all, love still sets off tiny implosions inside my rib-cage.
We are a galaxy of collapsing stars and our sky is ablaze.
Imagine this:
Beyond now, somewhere between here and there —
our everything will change.
The undoing has begun, we are on our separate ways.
We’ll leave the pieces on the ground and let time sweep them away.
All we need is awhile. Months. Weeks. Years. Days.
A little tenderness. A little prayer. A touch of grace.
