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By Ali Date: 2007 Sep 03 Comment on this Work [[2007.09.03.09.43.7063]] |
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"Put down roots," I whispered, half-prophecy, half-fiction. My gypsy eyes sinfully still, one hand of yours in mine-- the other? The other does not belong to me. "Put down roots," you echoed, as if redefining (or redesigning) years, because you always carried your roots with you, like chains you rearranged in order to breathe, whenever you could, whenever you can. "Put down roots--yes," I reaffirmed, dark eyes holding blue, holding steady, as if strength and grace could be passed in a kiss, as if everything in my touch was your answer. Maybe so. "Put down roots," you repeated, nodding, as if you had seen more than just my heart, naked, as if you understood what I meant more than just the words that I said. Tangled, weighted, and wired to begin, and begin, and begin-- you stand in two worlds, one foot above and below, existing in neither, and yet-- Here you are. Whether or not you know it, you have chosen well rather than wisely, and there's nothing tentative about this, our continued clash of recognition, and the vibrant tenor of your voice tells me tales you don't even speak to yourself: gypsy, you have been, like me, but you will relinquish everything for more than just a campfire and a wagon wheel, for more than just a few squirming, captured moments-- when you put down your roots in me. |