scintillate

I saw something
in the core of your eyes that night.
no matter the dark that surrounded the dampness of your lids,
I saw something and I knew, even with your grieved vision,
that you saw something too.

I can still see my breath when I go there,
under the old dying oak tree that reaches for the frozen lakes
that I last saw you at.
a hanging tree, I think.
the strength of skin could not be my fault.
A man could not stop an oak from growing,
even if he cuts it down.

and you found your roots in steel
the day I called you and told you that
I saw a light in you.
I did not beg or grovel,
not I a king to you an assassin
and so you went, not saying another word.
if you are selfish, then so am I.
and if anyone asks, I will have no explanation
for myself.

you said you saw the light too,
but it did not belong to this world.
I don' t have nightmares
now that I cannot see.
so I suppose you were right all along.
that light did not belong.
not yet.