1. Tethered

we were married by the ocean.
we were tethered by the sea.
we tied string around our fingers
to remember our ideals.

i’ll be brave when you are frightened.
you’ll be strong when i am weak in the knees.
i’ll be calm when you have had enough of these rushing waves.
you’ll be the oxygen i need.

we’ll take turns to untangle the knots,
though our hands may be tied,
it’s all a part of the plot.
cat’s cradle etiquette, we oblige,
as we learn to enlace for the rest of our lives.

you’ll be balance when i waver.
i’ll be warmth when you are shivering cold.
you’ll be patience when i’ve had enough of this waiting game.
i’ll be the anchor cast below.

we’ll take turns to untangle the knots,
though our hands may be tied,
it’s all a part of the plot.
cat’s cradle etiquette, we oblige,
as we learn to enlace for the rest of our lives.

2. Intermission

i’m so tired but i can’t sleep.
my mind is full but i can’t speak.
among the dust of the hard-to-reach, i’m stuck
right here, somewhere between side a and side b.

i could call it compromise
or just an intermission.
some kind of consolation prize
for the race i never finished.

i want to turn these tired gears.
i want to feel the follow-through,
some kind of equilibrium…
something to set my watch to.

i’m here, somewhere between
victory and a white flag.
caught in this purgatory dream, i’m stuck.

but i want to set the record straight,
i want to retrace my every step.
if i could just rewind all the tapes
then maybe i’d find my loose thread.

call it a compromise
or just an intermission.
some kind of consolation prize,
so close, but never finished.

i want to turn these tired gears.
i want to feel the follow-through,
some kind of equilibrium…
something to set my watch to.

3. In The Meantime *

maybe there’s no answer here,
at least one we’re ready to hear.
no string of words will satisfy.
no simple equation to edify us

here, in the meantime,
may questioning nurture life.

fear is illogical math-
an impractical skill to have.
still, we talk of our future ’til we have no voice;
we’ll try to outsmart it with noise.

but here, in the meantime,
may the unknown harvest life.

we’re conditioned to mourn our empty glass
long before it ever poured out our past.
though our patience is always in short supply,
we’ll leave our farsighted worries behind.

here, in the meantime,
in the gospel of nearsight,
may we learn to live a nourished life.