Goldenrose

She imagines the universe, 

the world suspended in midair.

Before, nothing except possibility even existed. 

The Milky Way, Earth, evolution–shimmer and dematerialize. 

A feeling I chase is silence. I search for it everywhere. In a world where stimulation is all around, I feel the need to get away from it all. 

We talk as the twilight turns to dark ash, 

sit out on the porch and catch fireflies in mason jars--

only for a second, then let them fly.

You tell me about friends I barely know, and I nod and smile at you,

She began to realize that thinking thoughts in your head was fairly different than writing them down.

if life is but a dream for the dead

may you visit us during autumn, the eldest of the seasons

letting your fragile bones be exposed to the crisp air of october

letting your fingertips run over the bars of the cemetery gates