To Concede

Becoming Elation

0402.2025

(a four-part meditation on love and transcendence)

I

My last love ripened,

then withered on an unrequited vine,

and it was the fruit of that vine—

filling the cup of love’s want—

that left me drunk on its final flame.

I carry its want—still alive with its need—

pressing hard on fragile conviction,

threaded with memory and history,

leaving my longing loud and alive,

buried beneath the ache of this heart.

⸻

II

Who knows what love is?

Perhaps to know

is to feel it, first—

unimagined and strong—

the one pull toward a life worth living.

Perhaps it’s to touch the sun

and die by its fire-beam and heat—

to fall to the wound of its golden arrow.

Or maybe it’s the long, exhausted sigh

while held in the arms of night,

then letting the moon’s kiss

set you free from yourself.

Perhaps it is death’s own moment,

when your soul is mirrored—

or losing time, entangled in atoms,

suspended among the stars.

⸻

III

Never knowing love,

I’ll become a honeybee—

carrying life from flower to flower,

especially the dying and loveless

beneath dry soil and fading fields.

The ones reaching, barely breathing,

pressed beneath the weight of stone—

oh, cruel journey of life!

to let their lives begin in shadow

while being beautiful,

but unseen and ignored.

⸻

IV

Let me be the bee

that finds the beauty in flowers

during their time of dying—

so my elation survives

in another form of love—

a kind worth carrying

in the grace of surrender

and purpose.

m.c.f.

❦

Love Without Ego

I Still Do

(for no one, and you)

I love with a silence blooming in bones—

My love asks for nothing,

but still lights a lamp in the dark

in case you want to come home.

I love you like a prayer

when nobody is listening—

even when you vanish,

and the leaving is drowned in your absence.

I love you when your words turn to shadow,

or are lost on the air,

and your care stops calling my name.

You don’t have to earn it.

I never meant to give it.

It arrives like sun in the spring—

slow, warm, and impossible to refuse.

There are still pieces of you in my life—

the tone of your voice

curled around a word,

the way you linger

at the edge of your own heart.

You may never hold my heart in your hands again.

You may never say my name out loud.

I may never hear you.

But I hope,

when the noise grows quiet

and people around you forget to listen—

you remember how once,

you were deeply seen

and entirely loved

by a rose who asked for nothing.

I loved you.

Not to possess.

Not to be chosen.

But because some loves

arrive like stars—

brilliant, distant,

and mean to be carried,

not kept.

And I still do.

m.c.f.

Photo, 2024, m.c.f.

Transition Into…

Goodbye. Love.

0329.2025

Goodbye, wild and unnamed love—

Age, with its hush, unclasps

the trembling flower

that opened in my youth,

arrogant with need,

drenched in want.

It bloomed

like tuberose—too rich, too ready—

whenever a golden-limbed boy

bent his gaze toward mine.

I see the last of you now:

your face, a soft pomegranate,

those quiet, knowing eyes,

that mouth and those brows

etched in my own reflection.

And I think—

we were meant to live

as one body,

woven in peace.

But the saltwater spoke.

It told the truth:

this kind of love

requires building.

So I unfastened my hands

and let this kind of love drift.

And still,

I know—

something greater waits.

A love unnamed,

needing no mirror.

m.c.f.

On Quiet Surrender

Night’s Mercy

0328.2025

The night’s splendor

pours through the window—

its silver secret sends me off

upon a sleepy sea of sorrow…

and I surrender gently,

like petals drifting,

learning to float

where I’d drown.

— m.c.f.

The Stars

Us, Astrologically, Astronomically

on elemental opposites

0328.2025

You come in quiet—

air and earth,

cool head,

measured thoughts,

a voice that waits

before it speaks.

I arrive as flame—

fast,

bold,

without warning.

I light what I feel

and walk through it.

You watch the flames.

I move with them.

Still—

my Venus

knows your rising,

calls to you

without sound.

We orbit close—

fire fed by wind,

truth held in silence,

closeness

without need.

Opposite signs,

but something fits—

a click,

a spark,

a pull that says:

don’t change,

just be close.

m.c.f.

A Study In Goodbye

Soft Exit Tactic

0328.2025

You don’t vanish—

you drift.

A pause lengthens,

warmth thins,

messages arrive late—

their meaning lost.

You choose silence

like chiffon—

folded neatly,

placed just so.

The silent cut,

of unsaid words.

You ask to meet

knowing I can’t,

as though forgetting

is easier

than refusing.

(Maybe for you, true.)

I’ve read the script—

at first,

the slow retreat,

the soft descent,

the affection turns static

without a storm.

You’d rather fade

than fall,

slip the tether

without warning

or respect.

No reckoning,

nor flame—

Just distance

disguised as time.

But I feel you

exiting the room

while you smile.

I know

how goodbye sounds

when it tries

not to be heard.

m.c.f.

On Some Bonds

The Red Thread

0328.2025

You once took a photo—

of two needles pierced,

a single red thread

running through their bodies.

I imagine the needles are us—

and the thread,

the binding of our hearts and heads.

(It makes sense.

I’ve often felt

we share blood.)

But then something broke—

and now you’re gone.

When the thread snapped

from the house of my heart,

I learned

how sorrow can be stitched.

No one loves you enough

to see how the knots

hold us tighter

than clean seams can.

(Woe.)

Your life pulses in mine.

Your lessons linger.

The love I hold

is now something else—

I lost you

and understood:

what I desire

cannot be held

in time’s fist.

And so I love the world—

most of all,

you—

freely,

with enough peace

to let your heart unfold

its wings and wander.

Without hope—

but for the little seed

hidden in winter soil,

hoping she’s strong enough

to rise and open

when love’s voice

calls her home.

I carry you still,

and pray too much—

it’s your voice I hear

when the thaw begins.

m.c.f.

Another Love

An Inheritance

0314.2025

Who makes love an occupation?

Maybe the eternally lonely,

maybe the motherless ones—

but must love be accompanied?

Isn’t birth alone enough to make it whole?

The flower’s tissue unfolds because of a kiss from the sun—that is love.

And the ocean casts its diamonds to the day, and all eyes can see—that is love in two gifts.

Then the earth fashioned us,

so our ears are mated to the songs of birds, insects—

and the lovemaking of trees and wind,

which fills us with such longing—

we are her children, and this is truly love.

m.c.f.

For My Beloved

Beloved:

0110.2025

You are the luminous beam

Born from the heart of the sun -

While others see promise written in the stars,

I feel your laughter, beloved,

Your smile blazing through

The quietest night, beloved,

Your voice calming every

Trembling fear, beloved—

Oh yes—

My beloved is the purest ray of light

Guiding me through the long and darkest night.

M.C.F.

Another Love

0525.2024

Love is the daybreak   

Embracing us and

Kissing eyes open -

And it’s the dark before

To warn or lead us home -

It’s the desire for solitude,

Where love is the teacher in silence -

Who else is walking love’s dark path?

Who else hears the music of love’s

Little black birds singing, singing

Their notes hung heavy in your head?

This might be the fiercest,

Most honest of all love -

It wants for nothing

But to bring us peace.

m.c.f.