Magnus Grace

the air tastes like honey and promise 

sticky with the scent of blooming jasmine 

and freshly cut grass that crunches beneath bare feet 

the sky drips blue 

stretching wider every afternoon 

Dragon wandered through the forest,

Smiling at his bouquet

Full of bluebells and daisies,

But sighed as he remembered

It was forever incomplete.

I made tea this morning.

I put the leaves in, watching the steam dance with childlike wonder.

I returned to my laptop, staring at a half finished chapter, the bags under my eyes more apparent than ever.

My neighbor is doing Duolingo across the street,

He’s in his sixties learning a new language

And I’m just eating leftovers, watching him,

Wondering if he’s practicing French for his husband.
 

Fireflies and sun

Thunderstorms that shake the house

Summer has returned

To me,

The words hope

And light

Are interchangeable;

To me,

Perhaps it is hope

That will let us see clearly