Ripple

The downpour renders the surroundings impossibly dark

Far above and far too close, thunderheads roar and tumble

As though waiting for blood to spill, to harmonize with the pouring rain

In the air hovers a feeling, a power, the brink of a reckoning

Waves pound on the loose rocks, roaring discordant with the storm

And on the beach stand two figures - flung apart by time, fettered tight by fate

The first is made of darkness. Its shape is folded inwards, spiralling, shoulders tight

Even in the darkness everything is too bright for the figure,

it aches to hide, for it is too much to be seen like this,

exposed to eyes and rain and the pain of sharp knowledge blunted by the rain

The true bane of secrets kept in the dark, in the unseen crevices of a soul

The second is dark as well, for what else would it be?

But instead of lonely midnight, this figure is the shadow of a promised dawn

This figure stands tall and steady among the clattering rocks,

hair long and untamed in the wind,

which whirls and tugs but does not cut into the body like it does to the first,

The second braves the storm and stares back

unafraid, steady, seeing

Both pairs of eyes are dark, as wild as the screaming sea beside them

The wind howls, the waves snatch and bite alongside the striking rain

A moment, and instant.

Then hands clench into fists, tightly held at the sides

Steady worn feet stride forwards, calm, measured over the wet rock

And the first figure, the shadow, cringes backwards, twisting inwards, wishing to escape

the knowing, the brutality of sympathy in eyes that mirror a hurricane -

And as the storm reaches tempest-fury, the fists loosen

The second figure looks, sees, knows the the hurt, the pain - Knows that both hold inside a hurricane of want - wants to yell, wants to cry, wants to lunge and strike and howl with the wind, wants to hide forever, wants to stay here, unchanging and rooted to the stone

But instead the hurricane eyes soften

Instead, the fists loosens and then two sets of arms reach out, one set hesitant, flinching, the other resolute and waiting

The figures reach out, reach together sinking into shadow and tar and nothing and everything -

And the touch brings tears, sharper than the wind, the storm, the sea

And every part of the hurricane only grows as the arms reach out, as the hold turns into an embrace

And the past and present collide in understanding, in quiet forgiveness, in shared griefs, in resolution to move forwards

Two figures bleed and melt and shudder and cry into one

The figure stands with tall shoulders rolled back

Long hair tossed into wildness by the wind

Tar-stains carving down the planes of its face

unhidden tears fall freely from hurricane eyes

Which remains - which has gone?

From the outside, there never was a storm