this is how things end then –
with dancing, and a ruined heart
unexpected and yet somehow not,
since this is you afterall
this is an emptiness that cannot
redeem itself with waiting
but I’ve grown used to thorns,
have almost forgotten the fireflies,
have known always that the flames
could be turned to strike me
and this is the way it goes-
trusting an incautious other with fire
and praying for something other than ash
© Sarah Whiteley
ebbtide 