I watched her for nights,
glowing. 
The overhead lights 
pretending to be her moon.
Sometimes I lost her in the 
dark
as I went chasing after her
fingers
dancing themselves to the
beat of some other mystery.
She told me It didn't turn out 
right, the colors and the 
shades.
The channel broken
somewhere along the way as 
she sipped her evening tea.
Hardly able to read my own 
handwriting, I sat
dumbfounded by what had 
manifested on the page.
I had never seen something
so beautiful,
yet so broken,
so miraculous
Yet so human
Where in this hauntingly
disastrous world had she 
gone to bring back the sky
that had been painted 
between the trees by a 
creator weeping in joy
knowing that one day a 
daughter would wake
and bring to life
what could never be born. 

Love starts hard
then it gets harder.
at some point it becomes
impossible
and in the moment you sever your 
ties with love,
to be free of what is no longer 
attainable,
you will be filled up
like an overflowing pot of tea
steaming
steeping
seething at the thought
that the only way you can be 
poured back into the world
to be sipped, 
to be saved
to be savored,
is to find the cups
that once were pots
and share what came
​From Me.

In stillness
I pondered
from what storm
had you emerged?

Your crystalline face
a reminder of
what can be made
when struggle falls in love
with hope,
when pain loses itself
in possibility,
when brokenness wraps its arms
around itself.

Staring through my
nakedness
you saw what could never
be clothed,
what I had never been willing to
undress.

Your love was relentless
scooping up the buried pieces
broken in my fight
to defy essential wholeness
and the heart
it was made to win.