...for F.
What can be done for the heart of a boy? How to convince him that leaving does not mean un-love? How to explain the kind of sadness that rings in the body like a bell? How deepest love, mother love, can be sealed silently in the heart where it cannot speak to the head swirling with illusion and fear. How distortion becomes less than comfort. How one can reside in the most violent part of the darkest storm
and know that she does not know how to step into the shelter of arms or dreams. How she might know that she cannot love the sun as her own because its brightness shames her. No. The boy breaks under the weight of the inconceivability of it all. Moist eyes soften from sardonic to why? And we, for all our love, have no answer to offer but the whisper of our own shaken faith.
What can be done for the heart of a boy? How to convince him that leaving does not mean un-love? How to explain the kind of sadness that rings in the body like a bell? How deepest love, mother love, can be sealed silently in the heart where it cannot speak to the head swirling with illusion and fear. How distortion becomes less than comfort. How one can reside in the most violent part of the darkest storm
and know that she does not know how to step into the shelter of arms or dreams. How she might know that she cannot love the sun as her own because its brightness shames her. No. The boy breaks under the weight of the inconceivability of it all. Moist eyes soften from sardonic to why? And we, for all our love, have no answer to offer but the whisper of our own shaken faith.
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