Sunday, January 1, 2012

Day 894: lighthouse

i am starting to think of this day
as two lighthouses on opposite ends of the ocean
both constantly vanishing
constantly being swallowed
constantly brought back into life

in the last 21 years
i have forgotten the pure taste of change
the way it washes over you like white wash
often pulls you into its undertow
how you feel thankful for air immediately after
thankful to be living
even with the different
even if its only whats left
after you have been cut
divided and subtracted
even if you are just fragment
how you found yourself still living in the moment of breathing

last year was a process of learning practice
practice of learning patience
me, a patient
learning to practice my own rotation
so dependent on another orbit that freedom seemed to be that forgotten dream on the open end of a wave
the one that never carried you under and away
who would of thought i'd find myself alive on the other side
even after all the times we were showed there is only one effect of crashing water
you are always pushed to the surface
weather you are ready to be thankful
im not sure i've learned what that kind of grace means just yet

i am not one to pretend
not one to lie and say
i know what this is and will be
whether it is water, air or gravity
whether i am in orbit or a still frame
looking for someones movement to carry me
i am not one to act as if i can predict such things
but i now
this morning
i woke up
knowing the only kinship i felt to water
was the way i remembered it to tossle me
today i woke up breathing
began my year in the house i was raised in
composed a song to the tenor of her voice
in north carolina breaking off the concrete and winter leaves
she told me she loved me
there were no buts or secrets on either end of the line
it felt right in the way i used to wish we were
until i realized we werent
and learned that she was

it made me want to find the ocean
let myself fall into her
and wait for the day
i no longer feel the need to breathe

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