rise as does the morning

the light of the north is muffled. curtained by clouds, filtered by water.
beneath the shower I am scraping the scent of you from my skin.

between mouthfulls of tea she asks for the details and i say i can't speak of these things. my hands return to emptiness. i am not holding. i am not grasping. these things flow through.

in the last night of the derelict palace i lay awake and contemplated how all things crumble. even stone must submit to the elements. my heart is organic and quickly washes away.

i seek higher ground and rising altitudes.
not yet ready to come back to earth.