The air moves me up
while I push myself back down...
I see headstrong summits arise
from the dabbling rock...
I wish you could walk with me now
but you are cities away...
She flows from June-
the reflections of the sun...
Quietly afraid
of the wind howling breaths away...
.
hands twisted in the mud...
You were the contrast
between the darkness...
He's the poetry moving
from her sun tattoos...
What is losing gravity
when the world has let go...
I had hoped you would sense
the cry of these last five weeks...
I feel as if May has swept me up onto its
hot air balloon, with devoted winds...
Dancing is what the trees do,
on a sun-sleepy ocean of inky leaves...