June 27, 2011

As if by some magic I could make you emerge
out of the hothouse of Spring
borne from my own wanting, an obedient Other
subject to the whims of my creation.

I am no God. This is not my world to re-order
you are not my story, I cannot tell you.

But I wish, although you will not emerge,
stepping out of the darkness, blinking, wondering at me.
But my wishes are horses that carry my words into the dark.
Hear them, for they are to you,
something real and true and here
and truly mine.

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