CORNSILK FIREWALK

Through vagabond dreams in the carminic marshlands, dark
rebels lead me where I know you
will not be.

You speak in fire
words, paint bridges of imaginings
mansioned tapestries too thin to hold the real:
the green that breathes
the trailing stars
the words I write
and you so crushing-far.

I know the shadowlands from
whence you come, how you came to be
beacon-embers just beyond
the reach of me;
oh, the tales
you tell
in the deep
the spent
whitesheet lingerings
threaded-burning trails across
cool skin and pinkdark places
where
a sudden gasp arises
in the breath of absolute.

Morning flames
break against the blushing walls
that can’t reveal
our firewalk;
the tempest images ensnared
in the webs
of the dreamcatcher
hanging
over my bed.