Magnus Grace

It's been two years

Since I moved here

One year

Since I called it my home

Home is the place

With more dirt roads

Than paved

And the dirt roads

Carry the name

Of your friend's grandfather

What used to be my everything 

has now turned into what feels almost like a burden. 

I talked to a tree just the other day, I was walking past and it did say,  

Well, what are you? 

Just a traveler. 

But what are you? 

Why, a human, of course, you didn’t know? 

I’m so busy now,

Even when I’m not, I’m busy,

Online, scrolling mindlessly, thoughtlessly,

Deeper and deeper into the well,

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

Spring is blooming 

around me, 

the trees flushing pink, 

the wildflower-shaped freckles 

scattered throughout the grass 

growing darker, brighter 

with the sun;