these voices sound in the night like softly jingling light bulbs 

that have long retired to couches and front porches

they dangle, they creak, they perturb 

and once in a while, they light for a few seconds

only to go back at once to resting

it is easy to get caught in this momentary flash in the sky, this warmth

to wish and pray, to build pyres and temples

to coax this familiar glow and clarity to come more often

it is easier to do this all this than it is to look down to the market 

where brilliant lights glow all night, and we, by ourselves

have to risk traveling there all alone, and greater yet,

risk that the lights will not be there when we arrive

It’s harder to soften into love than it is to hang onto bitterness and cynicism. Love will crack you wide open. It grabs onto you with its teeth and shakes you like a limp teddy bear that’s been through the washing machine a few dozen too many times. Love’s no fucking joke.

my heart is granite, a fixture in my chest

it lets in no light, impervious in all respects

hardened in its house of origin, weathered and beaten

this work of healing is the slow, nearly impossible softening of stone

where rain will wick right off to where rain will soften and soak

it will never show, but it wants gentle rain, it wants to soften,

to heal to taste to open to slowly crumble and cradle rather than reject

wish me luck, i am the alchemist. 

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