Meet you on the Green Carpet

I visited a sweat lodge with you, once.

You brought your kitchen conversation into a photograph of my childhood.

Together, we crouched, weeping, over an injured fawn on the side of a country road.

We wept for more than the broken animal. We mourned for all of humankind and for the heaviness of grief, despair, and rage. Sometimes we danced, though.

You were my sun

Others were my darkest shadows, hovering in corners: hissing and clawing.

From somewhere behind me, she looked through my eyes, revealing secrets while off to the side, he offered the wisdom of my ancestors.

We travelled to foreign lands, where you taught me the songs of a distant tribe.

In the future of my old age, I showed you my glory. You cupped your heart into the gentleness of your open palm and offered it.

We exchanged rocks and cut up paper scraps and oceans of words, sounds, and gestures.

You are me

and I am the universe