Notes: For Gabri and my sister. A bit of the structure for this poem is stolen from Sylvia Plath; I'm sure she wouldn't have minded. Also, I've just realized that I've never written a poem from Luke's POV. Coincidence? (Maybe not.) Enjoy!

The Simplification of Conflict

I remember darkness – night's icy
comfort, and black deeds that strike and sting
in their cold elegance. Wrong? Yes. But
somehow beautiful in the twisting
ways they wormed around objections of
morality or justice. Evil
has an allure, like the translucent
gleam of thin ice:
unstable but hypnotic.

And then I noticed light – not the vague,
unbiased glare of steadfast absolutes,
but tinted blue. Pale blue. Like the crackle
of electric charge, like the scalding
sparks of a quivering flame, like his
eyes. Like him. A noontime sun can
damage more than divulge. But slowly
letting starlight pervade shadows
is gentler; drawing out the pain, yet
uncovering piece by piece the facts
concealed beneath the gloom.

Truth hurts. I fought that gradual
revelation – I doubted, clashing against
a will as stubborn as my own.
Conflict simplifies things: the woman
misguided, the man resolute.
Wrestling, struggling, slipping
'til the fracas creates fusion,
two rivals rolling into one
reality, one perspective, a
single (shared) heartbeat.