Rope.

You pulled like truth on trial
as if I were the prize
as if my grip were proof
of how tightly love can bruise.

But I saw the sky behind your shoulder
wide and waiting
I saw my own hands
tired of their ache.

So I let go
And you, magnificent fool,
tumbled backward into your own echo
The sound of it
was better than any apology.

I stood there
empty palmed
weightless as a new idea.


And laughter
clean as rain after dust
found me first.