The Me in Meeting

Words are not truths
are not lies -
falsifiable by their own curve
redeemable by their own integrity

Intention…               
Intention designates truths
Instills deceptions

Do not replace intention
with promises,
eyes with hands,
love with lust.

You are not keepsakes
Sights
Or touch.
You are not answers.
There is no human with arms wide enough
to wrap you in assurances of possibilities,
no back strong enough to bend completely
around you
in the forms of questions,
pasts,
presents,
without evidence of goodbyes
drenched in tomorrows.

There are galaxies
that strand,
fishing lines that ensnare only
quarries and frauds -
and do not waver in the webbing
that they cast with their swapping.

Do not mistake windows
or even mirrors –
for souls,
eyes that touch memories
are not open doors
but wanderers
justifying the passing of their own time.

You
you are an undercurrent
sweeping away all that is not strong enough
to stand beside you,
all that trembles at the bite
of chilled pictures
rough fears that leave
white-capped waves
idioms of reliable belief,    
disfigured recollections
that circle the meaning
of collateral damage.

I am the pocket that you search;
seeking hand-me-down realities,
islands of being in which
rules and boundaries of the world
have no claim
or priority.

I am not your guardian
I am not braided decision,
paralyzed choreography
distilled in an hour glass.

I am the fire of nerves -
single-celled chariots
racing through the highway of my veins
attempting to gain victory
at the finish line of my heart.

I am the tingling of their dust
laid out against five fingers
and an open palm,
retracting
closing,
enrapturing
the small digits of my own hand

I am not the me
in met.
I am the me
in meeting.