The impossible real
You are the ache I am distracting myself from
You stand waiting
I ache less when I shove preserves into Ball jars
and make eyes at the stars
and wait for the moonstreet that lies across the water to take me
somewhere, to the moon I guess
wouldn’t that be best?
You walked on a moonstreet and called me to you
to you I walked, impossible
and sank so you could save me and I’m not sure I’ll ever get over that, not any of it.
Not the part where you called me to come or the part where I did
Not the sinking or saving, I will never recover
You were the impossible real, my ache
Not knowing what to do with this ache you make
I’ve offered it all, the contours of me in sketches, letters, numbers, gears, all the parts of my heart within reach
It’s only the impossible you want
The invitation comes, my reply sits just outside of all I can offer
except there’s you, walking on the moonstreet, asking me to come
I want to, I do
I watch the dimming of the stained glass widows as the sun forgives its way into tomorrow
My yes, a silence inside that casts itself out into the sanctuary to meet you
I fall sleep there on the pew and awaken to the last cast of the lingering light
As if a rare creature has entered the room unaware of my presence, only stillness will keep it on its course.
I dare not disturb the impossible real
that crosses the moonstreet and invites me
to stay in my worship
to stay in my ache for the impossible real


Katie, this is so beautiful... I love the sun forgiving its way into tomorrow. 🤍 that light is so forgiving, the golden hour.