Keyholes

Oh, the inconsistencies of humanity!

We begin to open little keyholes to our vast and maze-lake existence inside of us,

only to stop them again and again.

Why can you not have the key that slides smoothly into the lock

I have carved for you?

The carving of it is painful, you know.

Little slivers of the wall I have sculpted must be cut away-

Did you know it is to deny myself the complacency of a safe existence?

I wouldn’t stop; but it is a process.

I must set myself in front of disappointment, bare, without reason. Because it is that

reason that causes us to say,

                        You are only going to be pummeled by this

            Creature in front of you.

                                    Why can you not simply take my hand

                              And say,

                                                            Me too.

But I have many stopped keyholes, and a few tentative windows.

But the headlong, the vivacious….                                    What is it for?

                                                            What is it for?

Those visions of unedited being,

                                                            I feel we cannot achieve yet.

Maybe the kindred spirits with whom I can finally find rest

I have not yet discovered on this achingly vast plant.

I have yet to look down on the water from the tree branch

and hold that knowledge and drop it before yours splashes.

I cannot hold my fingertips in space and let them drop

without yours

I am too afraid that the space created will be too far that it cannot be shortened to

when we walked side by side,

me reaching but not daring to move.

Spring 2013