RAVEN BRANHARD

I have seen the waves
tearing you smoothly apart,
pulling at the edges of your heart.

They sing of sand and time,
their caress both cruel and tender.

Yet you dive back in,
looking for the pulse of water,
seeking solace in the tumult,

as if the depth
might hold the pieces of you
that still shimmer.

Presence of absence—
the empty vase recalls the rose,
a blossom once full,
the twist of its stem
and how it leant
towards the light.

Her lingering scent,
still clinging to the air,
fading
like all things
that matter,

while outside
the garden
brims with life,
as if nothing
was ever lost.

How you found your way
to my naked solitude,
I will never know,
but your presence
rewrote the silence in me.

You arrived
like a gentle breeze
and just began
looking after the houseplants,
watering them.

Now the geranium
is in full bloom.

I talk to it
just as I'm
talking to you now.
It knows your name.

The heartbeat fades
but leaves its rhythm behind.
Secrets tell their stories,
then slip away.

The abyss
gave me its emptiness,
a gift
that grows lighter
each day.

But it’s in the climb
that love still lingers.

From the darkest shadows,
I gather
an emporium of light,

enough
to guide me home,
back to myself.