becoming the mountain

some days we are a wasteland of every hurt 
we harbor for living our truth, for wearing our
softness for all to see 

wanting each other has gotten us killed, 
protecting each other has left us broken, and
still some days we are an oasis of reaching,
a constellation of gathering ourselves into each
other’s unwavering blush

tell me my love, how you want me to hold you
on your foggiest days…

when the thorns of history are tangled too
close to your throat for you to possibly know 
it is safe now to breathe deep, to give back
the generations of pain nested like sediment
in your bone marrow 

I cannot dance with you in today’s swirl of 
limitations bruising your every glimpse of 
tomorrow, I will not shatter the glory though 
which I’ve always known you

but I can close you so tight in my faith, you
forget everything except the spiraled
syncopation of our inhales and exhales 

I’ll stand watch as you sift the smolder of
ruins crowding your heart, as you pull each
knotted readiness into swells of release,
surrendering all that stands between you
and your everything