My Plea

This body is too small 

to hold it all

ancient stories—yours and mine

deep, deep wells 

of tangled ache.  The light

so very tired 

of being pressed down, kept in

condensed.

Let's gather it up, this burning orb

of brightness

let it breathe, let it breathe

in our open palm.  Until it warms away

the you

the me—the every thing

until there is only wordless river 

of calm—lulling

lulling us

awake