Vachon Imagined

Could I just rest my head on the nook of your chest
and have it all wash out of me
like rain mystified by its own ability
to charge the night,
to wipe away the sun?

Can you just hold me long enough
so that the rays of my own violence
don’t sequester my light,
don’t choke out my very being,
so that it’s replaced by a nature
not known to man
when he is not known to himself?

Let your nook carry some wetness
radiated by the heat
that only I can sequester and use as my own,
rattling it back into myself
as I find myself,
and find shelter
in the nook of your chest,
in the endless bounds of your own heart,
in the vast, untamed nature
that is wholly yours
and wholly mine.