Ge0rge Wu

We were rising.

With every thread tied together, by those who wanted to catch hold —

Those with knotted breath and clasped hands 

Weaving together a dream, cast out into a sea of stars —

Child, your future is best left unspoiled, so I may be too vague, or not vague enough. Don’t be afraid of  the contents within this letter . . .

I await you in the open grass.

The rolling plains roam my mind.

Dark-swept winds claw the horizon,

Damp with the promises you left unanswered.

Meet me at the River’s End

where waters slow and sink

where bank gives way to the bottomless depths

below the siren’s screams

Meet me in the Mountain Shade

My oldest friend,

so old and almost forgotten, golden memories like her gleaming leaves disconnecting, dying, decaying in the brown of the brush below. 

Looking from a plane, glowing

streets, like spiraling

spider webs

knitted on the elder plains,

out of hope, out of pride.

Crossings of the intertwined veins