lily veronica

cold water that washes my skin with kisses
the way my lungs beg for air, and yet i refuse.

sitting on slightly Damp Grass at the very top of a hill. 
it was warm and it was dark and the sun set on the mountains like a king 

How do you miss what you have lost?

Imagine
climbing the forest of your breath
The veins of air
falling from the highest branches and
snapping the vertebrates of soul
and spew the pieces about

They said it would get easier

A prickle, a soundless wind

says otherwise

Fingers, individually cold

warm when wrapped ‘round my wrist

Clouds of locusts that

squeeze out every 

single 

And suddenly I awaken in the good dream

My pillow a patch of red clover

The gravel road, now graced with ruts, beneath me

Uneven ground 

And let me tell you of the fireworks I saw

The bursts of yellow

god is nowhere
god is nowhere

The Eighth Lifetime:

His periwinkle skin made entirely of ice
after so many years, one can get lonely
sitting on the stone walls surrounding the garden
He waits

She is but a cowherd

I see your eyes in the rainy days
the cloudy skies
the soft down of the pond ducklings
and in the dirty sidewalk snow

they're everywhere