Tuesday Night Post #40

Readers

I am returning to the series “Stories of the Two”, I included a short one just to recap myself. 
-DBL

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Out This Chair

Out this chair
sticks two arms unadorned
Made of wood on end small hands peak
Held out in front reaching from the back of this chair
Held out in front of me
Wooden
Bare
In no resistance
This chair I think
My friend to seek
Sitting
holdin weight seems improbable
a hand shake stiff
familiar to my touch
options end in mystique
Stepping back making space for this interaction
Forward came the hands
Hitting the ground a finger splintered
To adjust this new change
A simple action complete
Three-strand rope finds its way
Circles just above the wrist
Even layered rest the rope in rolls of 4
If you ask I will speak
As it is I own this thought
Rise to its legs
The chair is held

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The Return
(Stories of the Two)

An event not recorded but always remembered
Both left with a part they did not previously know
In his thoughts he tried to let go the things he did not own
In her action she tried to dispel the image that allowed her throne
The flesh remained in his heart the rest exchanged for the divine spark
She remained free to allow this cruel earth to destroy
What remained of this seraph on earth 
A want to perish
A persistent love
A rope that ends
For her an new life that began

Now both at ends that differed from the beginning
They met
They embrace
They unified the actions that made them complete
As fire burns hot and energy is consumed there exist an exchange
If we remember that we wait for an outcome then it soon ends
If we feel that there is a process that is where it lives
In this story of the two the beauty was in the exchange
What remains to understand is the in-between

*     *      *       *      *

As a surprise I left her with a thought
And empty one that later fills
I find that when I try to find the end of a tangled rope
I must forget that there is a beginning
I slowly find the way
If I see that parts are undoing then I know I am on my way
If I stray and start to maneuver the other end confused
I don’t move
A change of thought
I know I dropped a few
Of the things I thought I carried well
As I age my arm degrade but my balance achieved 
Time for me to remember myself and who I use to be