Fyodor, my Fyodor,

I fell in love with you as a child

When I read all your stories

Of the wounded, the wanting, the wild.

You also lived in isolation, nearly died,

But your deepest thoughts lay open, undefiled.

I loved you for those.

Luther, my Luther,

Your life captured me first:

Your grief, your guilt, your desperate grace.

In your best, you saw your worst.

You became my brother, my kindred

In flame and thirst.

I loved you for your company.

Lewis, my Lewis,

You, my letter-bearer, my closest friend,

Opened wonder, beauty, structure,

Expanse of water, and depth of wind.

You explained so much

Of God and men.

I loved you as my teacher.

My brothers, my friends,

Across oceans and mortality,

Foreign languages and foreign lifetimes,

In fellowship you reached out to me, one body.

Though I possessed expanding lungs,

It was always, only, yours to speak,

So I loved you.

Ghosts, my ghosts,

I never walked your halls, or ate your food.

I only saw your polished best;

Never confused, angry, or crude.

I never spoke to your heart, or thought,

Nor was I one of your brood

Who knew you.

I do not know of love quite yet.

Perhaps a blossom in the gale:

A fragile thing that yields to let

Any dominant wind prevail.

Maybe seed scattered to the earth,

On gravel, or in shallow graves.

While weeds may choke to death its worth,

Or its tread on, or barely saved.

It could be firmer than the oak,

A strong and many-splendored thing.

Calamities its name invokes

May be mere lesser, foolish flings.

I fear my love has always been

A walking shadow, a part to play.

All sound and fury, but empty wind

That gambols on at close of day.

Perhaps I’ve never loved at all,

Even I, who has been loved so well.

Perhaps within my heart’s stone walls

Only icy blood may swell.

These things grow old inside of me.

The creeds I hold, they bring me life.

I know I can’t keep up the dance,

But can I end the strife?

I’ve been inside the freezing rain.

I’ve been the bride on burning coals,

But either way, grace on more grace

Has gone and saved my soul.

So I will stand ever taller

Knowing Who’s on high.

And I will praise ever louder

With my life.

I will run and not grow weary.

I will walk and not faint.

For the Voice that spoke creation

Calls me saint.

I’ve had no place to lay my head

And endless space for my each whim.

At times I’ve been hungry, but then

I never died in them.

I’ve cursed Your name and fled from You.

I’ve worn my shame as finest jewels.

But You sought me out, though I didn’t doubt

The wisdom of fools.

So help me stand ever taller

For You, who reigns on high.

Draw forth praise, ever louder,

From my life.

Feed my faith, calm my tempests

Raging on so wild.

For You authored all creation

And call me child.

You’re the king of every nation,

You judge every generation,

But You drank my condemnation

To call me child,

Beloved child.

I had another dream of you.

We spoke of life and theology.

You fell in the camp of, “Do.”

I stood on the side of, “Be.”

You disciplined your soul:

Remonstrance and restitution.

Diligent to a higher goal

Beyond our human constitution.

Selfless seeds of Saint

But your soil is sterile.

You cannot see it taints

Piety towards peril.

I wept for you, in dream,

Waves to water your seeds,

But our noble hearts still teem

With the sordid side of deeds.

You came again, in dreams,

No sense of time or propriety.

These years, they fall between,

And some are crouched inside of me.

You speak to me in tones

Of intimacy, filial familiarity.

In visions you are home,

My singular expression of family.

We walk the sandy banks

Open speech, laughter free,

No unknowns, and this outranks

The gaps in our proximity.

We stay so close. I do not run

Or hide what I feared you might see.

Our reunion cannot be outdone

By any other urgency.

I bask in you, your strength,

And need no other society

Than your eyes devouring mine at length,

Sparkling with jocularity.

I try to stare, eyes open wide.

You’re washed out with a wave of anxiety.

Pain recedes into the great divide

That drowns our commonalities.

We are one with our formalities,

But your visits are more cruel than silence.

Insomnia, cigarettes, coffee;

You stumbled upon my skin,

Nothing underneath to befriend

But you shared your soul with me

So I could have one awhile.

Despising flesh, but still

Your eyes caught underneath,

Scalpels cutting deep,

With calm surgical skill.

You see parts of me I don’t.

I repudiated community.

Injecting intentional lies

To avert watchful eyes,

But you possessed immunity,

And I stood before you exposed.

The good and bad in open air.

I didn’t know what else to do.

I fled. I fought. I bit you.

You continued unimpaired

To tame the shrew in me.

Then began the raining tempest

Dissolving my once impenetrable resistance.

I could no longer keep you a safe distance,

But curled up under you for rest.

I finally slept at last.

When I awoke, the flood had receded.

We stood together; defenseless, alone.

You: a threat I’d never known,

But I had already conceded.

I was yours to guard or grieve.

These staggered breaths, these years exhaled,

Have shown a soul cannot be earned,

But perhaps re-grown, or returned.

I got mine back the day I failed

To treat you like all the rest.

Can I force these words to flow?

Chilled lava, hardened glass.

Swigging at the verbal flask,

But these slurs pour forth slowly.

These ideas hide under the surface;

Shape-shift, germinate.

I can neither expel, nor exterminate,

When I can’t determine their purpose.

I wait for the tremors before I delve,

Dousing them with words

So that when they emerge

They can explain themselves.

I grew within the barren tree

Twisted branches, desolate leaves,

Bitter bark to protect from disease,

And all the burning cold that creeps.

“Death,” pronounced, but the view deceives

Cut through to pulp, and life will bleed.

While all the force of gale and fury

Shaping with each stroke of cruelty

Aimed for roots, but merely stripped the eaves.

Sky breaks open, a breath to see

Warm rays, the scent of security.

Seasons change, eventually.

But I, protected, possessed, will flee

Under the skin of death and deeds

And lies of a life I can’t believe.

I title this existence, “Free.”