Apocalyptic Love Song
Longing lengthens. The heart muscles over. What in the world is not a force of its own reckoning. We worship the sheen on the surface of the same lake that let our girls drown. How easily we trade our own breath for the idea that love is stronger when slipped inside the idea of loss. To be human is to be both the one who digs the well and the one who feeds it poison, to hear the village children shriek and call it music. If you want to love, look at the world beyond your looking. See. It is beautiful there, without you.
