bruce merrill

Not what you do for someone. What stops happening between you when you stop performing the version of yourself you think they want.

Not a place. Not an arrival. The recognition that you never actually left.

What you already know is what's keeping the new thing out. The cup has to be poured before it can be filled.

The grip was always the heavier thing. What you thought you were holding has been holding you.

You strain toward the awareness you already are, and call the strain a search.

Most of what you say is the silence flinching.

The horizon kept moving because something in you needed it to.

The future you reach for and the past you ache toward share one address, and you are standing in it.