Finding Home

Remind me again. I've forgotten the sound  of your light on my skin. Remind me lest I bury you with the rest of My forgotten things-- Journals tattered, How do I love thee's Mary Oliver's  Wild Geese Semblances of Poetry, Volumes of stories Waiting to be told Never told What else? My heart.

Find me  in the lines  that blur  watercolor  shades of  dusk  and night.

Strip away. Tear apart. Devastate. Break one's heart. Lose yourself. Change. Yourself. Mend. The holes. Find Your soul. Recreate. Today is The first Day of Your life. 

Not the colors In the sky Nor the setting Of the Sun But the breath That catches with Every sprint And the question One simply cannot Run away from-- Can you forgive? Who? What? Yourself. Life.

I'll enumerate all the things that make you beautiful. Everyday. Each piece of perfection. Each crack of imperfection. One, two, three...as a child does learning numbers on the wooden abacus, only with you the beads disappear as soon as my forefinger touches them, transforming into a fragment of a thought, a memory that you will hopefully unearth again and again until you believe it yourself.

Light. Shadows. Nipa. Bamboo. Nylon. Typhoon. Wind. Rain. Stripped away. All that is replaceable.

All in one day. A sunset that makes you breathe deeply Or just breathe For that matter. A forgotten poem Now remembered-- "Shall I see the Sun and skies With its fiery hues? Shall I? Can I See it all with you? " All in one day And then no more. Some doors Must be closed.