I swim in waters I cannot see through
I hear between the lines
and hallucinate that I know
what you think
or that we can ever really know;
and the water is murky, not in a way
that makes me feel icky
but just with suspended silt and debris
of my life and yours and all of ours;
and I want to know what is ahead
and I want to know what will be between us
next week or next month
or at the end of one of our lives;
and I sometimes dream
unbearably sad dreams standing
at your grave and wake up sobbing;
and then I see your eyes
and you lay your hand on my shoulder
and I grip your back, turning
as we dance, and each step of that
still totally uncertain to me
and I wish that I could only
hold all my steps with that much openness
and be in your life the lead
that can make room for the other dancers
and swim sleekly and gracefully
into the uncertainty of the next stroke

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