It’s not that we have seven years behind us.
Or that half of it, sunbeams
filtering through silent rooms:
our bare hands eating off the same plate,
voices butchering songs,
hours bellowing with laughter.
But that halfway across this lake, your heartbreak
we are twin ropes tied beneath the water,
its sharp edges weakening
Even then your sunlit filaments
They were beautiful when brazen.
They are beautiful in hiding.
Know, as you are,
I am in the water
as your strands thin.
Until your knot loosens
and everything becomes beautiful
Your sister in heartache,