Not Quite Cupped Hands

Man is liberated from the jaws

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Let me be honest with my love.

If the universe and its guardians

can adore someone like me,

I can, I must, break through my

own fortress walls, lower the bridges

and drain the misty moat.

I know each of you by name,

by your fears and secret triumphs.

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Your deepest beliefs, the faith you

keep shrouded from even yourself.

You can’t drink from the stars

and keep the cup clasped in your

hands for long. This cup must pass,

tip, flow like a new Milky Way.

Loving you is picking the lock,

facing the braided mirror

and not caring if the face peering

back is yours or mine.

Loving him is the crisp smell

of mountain trees at the tipping

point of night. Loving her

is the warm texture of June

that writes in every flower’s

open pages.

Loving you is coming home,

sweet,

sweet home.