Flash on, flash off.
Incapturable, immeasurable.
Maybe it won't be this way forever
but today, only we can see them. Just us.
Our little human secret.
White dots, bits of erasure
on a dark canvas.
Torches in the solemn night.
It doesn't matter if I pull out my camera
too late, too early.
None of it matters.
Stars, beauty only captured
by the human eye. Perhaps
the last thing to which we can say so.
Raise one last glass to that.
At the hurl of a storm, the tree collapses.
Stagnant from then on, broken. Such an easy thing to be.
In the unpredicted wind, it sways
back and forth on its trunk, tendons straining
in the months of darkness and cold, i never stopped writing.
i just kept it all to myself. every night, my own religion
pages of pen poised on paper, pouring my heart out
i don't want to love someone
because i'm supposed to
you told me, one night in mid-july.
warm air and sun fading in the sky,
i want to fall in love with someone
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