from all this,
that two hurricanes can coexist;
that the silent eye
screams louder than we know
we learned that fingertips
scorch memories better than pokers.
from all this we learned
two teachers in a silent classroom
makes a convoluted curriculum;
bright flame can burn itself.
we learned it is possible
to make fortresses from broken stone.
from all this
we taught ourselves by inculcation
that strength lies not in stoicism
but in flight.
it ends like this,
me as the ocean again
with all my storms and waves
my hurricaneself downgraded in your wake
to a humming tropical storm–
you the broken angel with burning wings
and only a hard landing ahead.
they will see you streak across the sky
and call you comet,
they will wish up on you.
i will want to pray for you
but you were my god,
and i was your king.
we will not tear one another apart
as we thought. we will interweave
and knot into history,
one more blanket to warm the cold moon.