TRULY ALIVE

When he fell, he fell apart.

Cracked his bones on the pavement he once decorated

as a child with sidewalk chalk

When he crashed, his clothes disintegrated and blew away

with the winds that took all of his fair-weather friends

When he looked around, his skin was spattered with ink

forming the words of a thousand voices

Echoes he heard even in his sleep:

"Whatever you say, it is not right."

"Whatever you do, it is not enough."

"Your kindness is fake."

"Your pain is manipulative."

When he lay there on the ground,

he dreamed of time machines and revenge

and a love that was really something,

Not just the idea of something.

When he finally rose, he rose slowly

Avoiding old haunts and sidestepping shiny pennies

Wary of phone calls and promises,

Charmers, dandies and get-love-quick-schemes

When he stood, he stood with a desolate knowingness

Waded out into the dark, wild ocean up to his neck

Bathed in his brokenness

Said a prayer of gratitude for each chink in the armor

he never knew hhe needed

Standing broad-shouldered next to him

was a love that was really something,

not just the idea of something

When he turned to go home,

he heard the echoes of new words

"May your heart remain breakable

But never by the same hand twice"

And even louder:

"without your past,

you could never have arrived-

so wondrously and brutally,

By design or some violent, exquisite happenstance

...here."

And in the death of his reputation,

he felt truly alive.