after the melt,
what strange mold
creeps where blood
once ran, its sound
less pulse, more drum
mist
mourn
Month: November 2024
daughter
in the morning dark
only care now.
only open hands
in tremors.
you are still asleep
and I remember.
how
I carried you to the shore
before
you could walk and we
sat there watching. you
collected grains of sand.
between your palms
to feel them.
trembling
and then to the sea
to meet with open hand
her power and know her
press against your own.
the slapping sound,
the open palm,
your laugh––
remember.
still
sparrow looks back
May breath continue. May not-yet-imagined descendants of a coming dawn know birdsong and the creak of timeworn joints tempered by long life.
vibrancy
life beyond ideas
What moves hand, root, tide, bud, breath––
is no abstraction, but the trembling in each
listening leaf.
unseen
in plain sight
Wanting only to be witnessed, children turn to handheld mirrors endlessly reflecting one another back, far away amid the storms of him nearby, mirroring only the magnitude of his own signs.
repair
or extinction
Imagine irrevocable rights.
To live and move.
That these might be held.
Sacred and constant.
Instead of the constant
threat of nothingness.