the siren and i

under the cover of
near darkness, with the setting
sun painting the clouds in the
richest of hues, and a light patter
of rain falling onto the trees,
i will say, “follow me”

and lead you by
the hand deeper into the forest,
where the glow of the sunset
hardly reaches, and i will say,
“here’s where i buried
a part of me”

you’ll ask me what
part that would be exactly, and
i’ll drop your hand to hang
my head and reply that i
don’t know anymore

you nod, and drop
softly to the forest floor,
pushing dirt aside like
you know exactly what
to look for

and maybe you do,
always able to coax out
the bitter and broken parts
and then hold me until i
am myself again

then, freeing a small
box from the wet earth,
you stand once more to
present this long-since buried
thing to me

part of me is
afraid to take it, which you
also seem to know, and tell me again,
“you are good. you were made to
love and be loved in turn, just like
we all were”

and we’ll bury that
box again together,
albeit empty this time

and you’ll take my
hands in yours to lead
me back out into the
velvet blue beauty of the night

and you’ll say to
me, with my head resting
on your shoulder,
“i’ll always be there to
walk you home”

and
and
and
i will always know
this to be true