we will be forever restless

and it is nothing

that will quench our thirst

it is nothing

there is not a thing.

we will taste what we’ve ached for.

we will reunite and we will fly

for only one or two moons at best.

for again we will be restless

without the swell of understanding in our innermost places.

but it must come to you like a visitation.

walk right up to you and you will know it’s name.

and then it will wash completely over you.

like a banner. and like a gift.

it will come in your collapse.

it’s how visitations happen, mostly.

i ache for the swell. and i wait for it.

but not quite like watchmen wait for the morning.

i wait for it like something, I suppose, i’m not willing to wait for.

for my feet won’t quit slapping the floor when i try.

…try.

and i wonder about it - down in the cave of warring restlessness.

that cave and it’s bratty, nagging undercurrent.

i wonder about the open skies and all the understanding.

the thing is that my chest must be cut open

and given full access to

loving Spirit of loving Father of loving God.

i welcome i trust.

and i don’t want to be restless forevermore.

i don’t want that.

i was restless downtown and i thought there to be no cure, save for communion with the Spirit.

which i let myself believe must always look the same.

but in the restlessness i couldn’t locate the Spirit for more than a moment in my car.

so i shuffled up to my brother’s room and yapped his name.

and he, startled, yapped mine back.

my brother always has a song stuck in his head.

and i knew all the ache was about to be reconciled with the spirit in his frame- in his living temple.

the room was ever so, ever so slightly yellow.

which was warm and cool and nice with the summertime downpour

whispering through the barely cracked port

to the thunder

and the world out there.

and the understanding began to swell

in it’s loss for words and soft cool bedsheets.

so i found the spirit

and communion there was

in the song stuck in his head and the collision of presence.