We don’t know when, or where
the rabbit hole is,
and to look for indicators
might make the fragile window
shrink away entirely.
So we stumble
in the dark
by the sea foam
and when hours have passed
we turn around
step foot into consciousness
and resume the trace
back home.
Nothing said
can come back with us it
resists memory it
breaks with the waves.
What did I tell you in the rabbit hole?
That I suspect love happens to us?
That the love that loses us
crashes
pulls away
and returns
holding on to the strangest places?
In obdurance we ask
what can we hold on to?
A lesson from the sand
in an invite dance with the water
will promise us,
nothing,
nothing,
nothing.
