I miss you when you are here

My heart has been traversing the landscapes of an ancient grief.

I found it hiding out under moss and vine.

Underneath the bedrock of anger and projection there it was; in the shape of the ocean, it smelt like autumn.

This grief has occupied the timeless compartments of my heart, through the door of longing and ecstasy I found a room of deep remembering.

The memory of meeting.

The recollection of an intimacy that reaches the outermost edges of eternity,

wrapped around infinity like a rich velvet scarf.

Transcending the encasements of human and

the vibrant coverings that clothe us in skin and fur.

The threads of being child, sister, father, friend

feel like invisible borders to the possibility of our meeting.

Barricading the essence of our radical and roar cores which are

bloody and broken from endless lifetimes yet

enraptured by a thousand sunsets etched upon our unending gaze.

To sit before you and pretend we don’t know each other,

To not mention the endless meetings, bodies and lifetimes that together we have traversed.

To not reminisce about our time together in the dark stillness, before all light.

The choice to not look beyond the colour of our pupils,

past the brown, blue and green,

beyond all white.

To not see the dark reflection in the centre of our eyes

And chuckle

There you are.

The grief of not meeting even though you are right here.

Pouring me a cup of tea

The liquid falling into the crevasse of forgetting

A carved meeting, rehearsed and polished in stone.

Instead I fall into the blue of your eyes

And my heart sobs the estuaries of our amnesia.

I don’t have the courage to find you in the dark

For my obsidian gaze to reach into your pupil and pull you down into the abyss.

Into the vast undying

The gap feels too great,

A glaring white ocean between blue and brown

obscures the path to our shared eternity.

So instead I drink tea with you

And we talk about last summer and the ways of the world

Of skin and fur,

Sister and son.

and sometimes inside the endless chatter of life there is a moment of silence

A minuscule crack appears in the fabric of our form

And I think I hear you whispering from far away

underneath a deep ocean the colour of winter

Here I am.