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We were bereft from the world.
Cast as stones from sullied hands.
You were casting stones at me.
Had me second guessing myself.
I knew as one always knows
when baring oneself to your hail.
I know. I thought I would love
the way it hurt. No.
Still I soared at the
thought us. Belief and trust.
Gliding over your ocean.
Still loving you so.
Your mosaic of land.
These wings alighting
on your soil. Native earth
foreign to the touch yet
welcome to these eyes.
I spied you from a perch
long held dear.
From a vantage aloof to despair.
In swooping, I fell.
Dashing myself. Breaking my ire.
Finding sharp corners grinding
against the hard tang of
my denial. Now I know.
In flying and falling,
what most I desired from a distance.
What I disdained close to you.
That, my love, and times hence
is something true.