I wore daggers on my knuckles
and hate in my hair,
and my heart was dark
and full of venom and teeth
that gnashed on rage.
But you, the walker in my dreams
the burning bush in my heart,
you told me once that my heart
was golden and my soul could shine
brighter than any star in your sky,
and I knew then that you had been blessed
with not only a first and a second,
but a third sight as well.
One to see the love in the unloved
and another to catch your reflection
in the eyes of the first,
and the third that could always see
the forest for the trees,
even though you never learned
how to read a compass,
and if you happened to find yourself lost
on the side mountain,
you should only ever climb up
to look for a way back down…

There is only the ocean;
waves, tide, surf
are simply parts
of the whole.

I used to build sandcastles
close enough to seashore
that they’d wash away, clean
before I got attached.

I manufactured moats
drawbridges and gates
spiral towers to hide treasures
keeping intruders at bay.

I never did need knights
as much as I told myself I did
I was a fine protector
a kind ruler over myself

but you were like gills
and I breathed new air
the salt of the sea
the grit of the sand

and I decided I’d move
my sandcastle away
from that rising tide
and invite you in, too.