We Must Be Honest Moon

Hoarding won’t save us, all flourishing is mutual.

-Robin Wall Kimmerer

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Out of one world & into another—

water into water, milk for milk.

‍

I had nothing to offer her,

so I moaned when she moaned

& kept my eyes on her eyes,

said I was so so sorry that pain

was visiting her in shuddering waves.

It hurts, it hurts (yes, it hurts, it hurts).

‍

Imposter in the emergency room—

only my finger maybe broken (not),

while this Being vocalized distress.

Time inexact under fluorescence,

stranger-siblings seeking solace,

circling the raw belly of our lives

in relationship for an afternoon.

‍

Did I dream of her last night—

as an anxious whirlpool of climate-

fueled hot & angry seas swallowing ships?

In that knowing of nighttime visions,

I knew the strongman’s moral violence

would spread like sad blood

through the tired bed of our world.

‍

I woke not-alone & inconsolable

(her I know not where).

My timidity a graphic fearful spot,

empathy shut-up in my imagination,

a dartpoint of sky as we sat in the hospital—

our momentary story briefly caught

(for how many actual breaths?)

on the nameless snag of suffering.

‍

I desperately want her to know,

as I yearn to learn myself,

that I do not despise our pain

or our shadowed love-wish for release.