Red Shorts and a Net

And it was crystal

Crooked and Cracked

with only my tired

trembling white knuckles

holding the fragments together

But the pale green

had started to seep insidiously

through the cracks and the crooks

and the lines in my hands

And the edges were sharp

Stinging me

a green guilt that was not mine

but that my skin absorbed

with every blind touch

To let go was to break

and to break to destroy

and to rip the paper

from under the words I had written

So they might fall

Into a poisonous web of

twisted promises

and fresh guilt

But then there was you.

Red shorts and a net.

You were silence.

Knotting up the right and the wrong

And the fair and the cruel.

But the knots made sense.

Their origins clear,

Their destinations concrete,

They wove a roof in the storm.

You took a step forward

And that step was mine.

I stretched out my hands

And I crossed the line.