Halo of Arms

This halo of arms, this magic spell,
this incantation of arms I hold you with,
these arms of yours, arms of mine,
arms of dark ground, arms reaching
for the bones of your grief —

I take you inside this tent of arms,
inside the house of my arms,
I cover you with this blanket of my arms.
You pulse and I take your hand,
weave mine into yours and all I can do is touch
because we are made for touch,
we are made out of touch and out of touch, love —

not candles and flowers, not gods and goddesses
who climb into the burning pyre
praying for each earth
inside each of our heavens — no,

those are shadows
that dance on the wall
where I wave my arms over you,
slowing you into yourself,
bringing you inside
this soft press of arms,
back to front, front to back,
into the quiet home, together,

into this place we live,
this place we will always live.

About David

Prone to musing and to being prone. Father to two, writer, engineer.
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