Poetry – Page 3 – Too Far From the Sun

April 8

start stirring, seed pod

sometimes we fall deep into silence to honor the reverie of what's to come

You don't have to be okay. Just be.

my soul is made of stardust, my body made of dirt

as darkness receded, the lights in my heart, of my loving city

consuming vacancy

I just feel her heart in my chest, the steady beating rhythm, my arms wrapped tight around her

incapable of being captured and too much to be savored

and the water in you would rumble, like a tide pulled to shore, and you would tumble back to me

tending my garden inhaling the sweet bloom