Once, you inspired a fire in my heartspace,
one that smelled of cedar trees and sandalwood
and felt like a thunderstorm.
This fire is not for you, not anymore.
I can no longer bear the weight of your memory and my own becoming,
so I must ask one to leave,
and I’m sure you understand which one must stay
so that I may rise up to become my own lover.
Yes it’s true that I once sought refuge in your presence,
and then in your memory
and I held the weight of both our futures in my soft palm
held open for you
in trusting acceptance of our then-aligned paths.
I let gravity pull me down,
down into your arms
where I was cradled by the scent of certainty
and lulled into a solace born of devotion.
Devotion to an idea, a desire, an unmet longing.
I composed sonnets to you
in my love-soaked heart.
But now, my best poems
are given to my own holy being.
I gently breathe life
into this new-forged passion of Self,
sparked into being by a lover that I once knew
but now exists
only as a memory.
Rest assured though,
for you are woven into
the tapestry of my very soul,
a tapestry which is complex and beautiful
because of your contributions to its creation.
True, I am made of the fabric of the stars,
but your touch lives
in the seams of me and the fire of me.
But rather than let this fire consume me
with leftover passion,
it steadily burns away what was,
leaving space for what is and what will be.
This fire is my truth.
And your memory I blow away
into the velvet darkness
of the Wild that lives in me.