What Have I Done

From the security of my own ash heap
I heard your cry
and assumed it was your reaching
from the security of your own
rubble, debris, refuse
for my words
ear
touch

I spoke without filtering
every thought
every sentiment
not taking any time
to brush off dirt and ashes
not being careful
oh my God
not being careful enough
with my own heart
I listened intently
or so I thought
but in my eagerness to serve you
to heal you
to console you
to comfort you
I finished your sentences
I filled spaces you might
have revealed

had I waited

and my spirit
awake, attentive
stirring within my heart
rushed to find you

without even pausing for practical thought
without using words to announce
or listening for invitation
my being
skin on flesh on bone
physical driven by emotional
my very self
all of me
hurled forward
to seek you out and find you

something strong
wanted deeply to see your face
to tap away tears
to offer shoulder, hand
just to brush away
your sadness
and deliver comfort

as eager as I was
to be attentive
I somehow failed to pay
close attention

for the gate around your own trash heap
which was surely open
when you called out
began to close quickly
when I announced my approach

for some reason you fear my approach

how ridiculous of me to push
with such intensity
while at the same time
baring my heart
which could only
have frightened you
more

and so now
only minutes
from rising out of ashes
brushing myself off
sending words of comfort
half-listening
(that's where I must have erred most)
and running towards
the sound of your voice

I must return
with only the memory
of my words and yours
hands still reaching
in your direction

this pile of ashes
is so much dirtier
and drearier
having taken time away
and now returning