As Vague as: “I love you.”

We falter gusto, a fist to wind, gnawing upon our palms.

I

scrape and scribe mirrors, immortalizing a name: as vague

as: “I love you.”

A ceiling is fallin’, birds are chirpless,

and ebbic our grief, a nightmarish blight.

Indeed, sorrow

is on repeat, devastating a prow, where print and blood

trickles upon petroglyphs.

I like you so much more—the

art: fleeing in place, squirming and gripping pride.

A cloud

and call, crawling into bushes, extolling something sacred.

I love you so much more—the pain: needling grain, lost for

wheat: as vague as: “I love you.”

I fail to see a pulse, dearly

adrift, and wondering: why shouldn’t I love you?—a life

flapping in the balance.

Indeed, I fall your joy, pleasing God

in our honor, ever to fly.

So light a candle, wail for love,  

only to rise, scaling a thousand walls.