Artificial light will suffice when I employ on quiet walks my creative devices to make art during heart- survival crises
until it all naturally passes, as all weather is designed to do; I need to do better with storm preparations, though He always sees ahead and sees me through.
Tonight, to distract with creative play, I replace and extend a stem with manmade
until the flower becomes a tower, and then I ignite the beacon, and let the moon console a lonely orb romantic-dreaming.
I do these magnificent things not only to take focus away from the pain but because it gives me the control and power as an abuse-survivor to manipulate in a positive way.
I do it for you, but really and also for me, selfishly, but if you and I both need it, how comforting it then becomes for us to become “we.”
You’ve been here too, I know, as I have been there, not these same tracks but in the aches that echo, shared.
Golden Orb so slowly burned out, descended beyond all trace, save for its selfless beacon beam upon Waxing Crescent’s face
who, in turn, invited every star with unknown name to share the stage for the benefit, Hope’s Grace,
admission for all, free, no matter the creed; for me, I believe the Creator of space so lovingly handmade a place where the light never fully recedes, personally for you and for me.