My curiosity's happiness
lay in abatement
not tortured
dimmed.
What was need
a transmutation
from tense and weathering
to meandering and now.
Nothingness felt like
a being of a way; this
was the play of the leaves
against the scratch of my window.
What I needed
was to become cold
and let my slower molecules
echo deeper into
the shadow of my pain.
That is the underlying cause
of intimacy; little gains from plain
old hurt.
I was vulnerable
obviously. We are
naked, clawless,
relying on paper
and trained language.
Our wreckage fit together
obviously our crash
was once and our name.
Roman Ryan 