The Double Edge

I conjure worlds where we could still belong,

Where every word I should have said rings clear,

And build cathedrals out of what went wrong,

Their stained glass windows bright with all my fear.

Imagination lifts me past the weight

Of ordinary mornings, coffee cold,

But leaves me standing at a phantom gate

That opens onto nothing I can hold.

The dreams are generous. They let me fly.

They also teach me how to fall with grace,

Remind me that each vision is a lie

As beautiful as light across your face.

So, I will wander in this gifted curse,

Part paradise, part priest, part scattered verse.