Of Wildfires and Love

Unless your double-helix’d DNA
is mountain, you cannot grasp
the dementia of layered formation –
its multi-striped porcelain
distinctive from the bones
conduits of root embedded
between fossilized jaws

Unless your soul is Sacred Land
You will not understand
the resuscitation of Spirit –
its unrefined luminescence flowing
raw under your transparent flesh
arterial blue mapping Life
into an intravenously red release  

Unless your blood is sediment
you cannot apprehend  
the equanimity of surrender –
it’s Egyptian cotton acceptance
balanced between contentment and unrest
Yin and Yang suspended in Zion
with no promulgation of promises
no discernible pattern to follow

We’ll wake from this brief respite
barely touch our breakfast
watch the cloud formations in our tea
wishing they were cumulus rain instead.
We’ll communicate without words
depart in opposite directions, swallow
the separation of sadness, yet understand

Love is a kind of lunacy with precise
and oft-repeated symptoms
while in the other’s presence –
blushing, inexplicable laughter, stupidity
it rages like a wild fire and then subsides
smoldering remains reveal an inevitable realization
of whether your roots are so entwined
life without the other is inconceivable

And we know this is what we aren’t;
we aren’t breathless or overly-excited
slumbering in each other’s arms tonight –
we don’t possess a deep desire to fuck
every second we get – we don’t lie awake
when separated imagining the other’s tongue
tracing our body’s dimpled skin and aged crevices
any fool can be “in love” for the brief second
it lasts but we’re not – we innately know it

Inasmuch as what’s left after the fire
burns away these sacred lands is Truth
a remnant of both an accident and art –
because let’s face it, when its emphysemic cough
dissipates and its lungs are left crusted
what remains to heal will be Love  
who remains to rebuild will be us
~