Shattered glass

"I want to gather the heaviness in my hands like scattered glass"

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If I seem quieter,
if I hold my love
a little more gently in my hands,
it has not lessened.

It has only learned
how to bend
around your healing.

I want to gather the heaviness in my hands
like scattered glass
and tell you it does not have to cut you.

If I could,
I would rewrite the atmosphere for you,
tilt the light back into your bones,
unravel whatever thread
has tightened behind your ribs.

I would lie to the ideation of my own mind
just to make it gentler for you.
Sand down my edges,
dim the restless flicker of my wanting,
become something quieter
something easier to hold.

But then I wonder.
I do not know
if I am what you need right now.

Would you still want me
if I arrived less alive?

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