Bitter Root

On the night that I first saw her,
the sky gave birth to a thousand flames.
Or was it flowers?
I can’t recall.
Flavors? Philosophies?
Perhaps the sky gave birth to them all.
Now it is gone. The sky is just the sky.

Love, my enemy,
has thrust her bitter root
deep through my ribs.

Oh, love, take pity!
Cut my shadow from me,
let me cast no darkness.
Cut my reflection from me,
I cannot bear to see it.
Cut my thoughts from me,
they are crueler even than you.
Cut my emptiness from me,
cut the ache.
Cut the night from the day
and the sky from the earth.

But unless you can take the root, please
don’t cut yourself free.