you've felt
the brambles and sweat,
the curl of berry-stained lips.
you've seen
the cornflower sky stolen
by a red-orange river,
the evening still thick
with lightning bugs and laughter.
you've held
up your hair against the heat
and turned on a fan,
while i stand here, in the grey,
skin pale and prickled.
you know
what i don't: that soon,
the sun will slide across the table
and glint off the silverware
at just the right moment,
turning me blind.
her voice sounded heavy to her, filled
with the unnamed emotion
everyone had told her to expect. except
she hadn't. she'd rolled
her eyes at the shiny pamphlets and blog posts
In a dew-drop a little world exists
A place turned blue and silver by the light
That lingers well beyond the morning mist.
In a dew-drop a little world exists
Good morning, sunlight like syrup
Touching every dew-streaked blade
Of grass and puddle of drying mud.
Good morning, air that smells of spring,
Air that sounds
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