Clumsy

Our clumsy hands keep reaching
desperately
for one another, trudging through the quicksand
Don't you see, it's swallowing us whole?
That desperation, that plea deep inside us both
is poisoning us.

We've been fighting for this for so long
I look at our future, I used to see
more.
Now I begin to think
it could always be like this

struggling like weights in mud
trying to move trying to get back
to you
only to find when I finally crawl
to the edge of the quicksand
there's nothing to grab onto.

And that's okay
maybe this obstacle
maybe this time God's saying
"look at what you're doing"

maybe He's telling me
"the time isn't right, yet."
maybe it's too soon
too little to run away with
too few reasons to run away to
yet.

It's not severing, you see
it's not letting go
it's readjusting it's reassessing
it's postponing the final date.

I postpone these dreams
these wishes this desire I had
to return home to
the desert
to our shadows splayed in the sand.
The time
isn't right.

I postpone my reaching for the stars because
if it's this hard to get back to you
if we keep tripping over every dip in the sand
can we find our footing when
the hammer falls?

I feel content in knowing
I have you
we still remain
painted in the desert
shades of something
transcendental.

We have these dreams, we're so eager
and
we've run over each other
trampled one another
trying to get to the other
without even realizing

we threw logic out the window
let gravity pull us where it would

my impulses told me to go
but now my logic tells me
it's time to open my eyes
and see that
it's not time to go
yet.

If the time is right
the shades will combine, intertwine
without having
to fight all of heaven and earth
to get there.

Ly Hansen