What (I want/you) to say

What I want

I want you

What I want you to say

When you say

You are more

More like water

Is that.



I want you to say

You are

You are the rock

That you create.


That you create

More than you destroy

In equal measures


I want to go

I want to go down

To that river

With you

And float


But you’re a swimmer

The best I’ve seen

You make it look


And you’re envied for it.


You don’t impress me

As the type to show off

I know you are

You are the water

But I also know where you’ve been

You’ve been the rock

So I want to hear

Your story


How the water rushed over you

In a rapid

In a rapid succession

Of seasons


How it carved

(Out) all your crevices

In the rainy time

Accepting sadness

Like the loom accepts

A yarn

And weaves

A scarf around my neck

Where you kissed me

Asleep from the light

Of that white-out


I was holed-up in


Clipped wings

The only thing

Keeping us from



Fuselage intact

I want to hear you say

You understand

Even if you don’t

Because you will


You will be the rock

If you haven’t yet

You will relish

The dry times

When the sun

Hits your back

Like a revelation

A solar charge

Permeating your skin


Stock-piling itself

In you

Until you begin

To release

To release it

Into the evening

And the night accepts

Another daydreamer

Into the fold

Into the fold of your frame

Straight. Plumb. Level and true.


I want you to say

You’ll be like water

And let it erode you

Gently in the spring

Over time


Because we don’t get

To choose.


We don’t get to choose

The seasons

We only get to prove

We’re worthy

Of them.

Antelope Canyon, AZ by Erin Klumb-Higginbotham

4 comments to “What (I want/you) to say”
4 comments to “What (I want/you) to say”

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