In the branch of a tree,
in the petal of a flower,
in a grain on the beach,
life exists in an hour.
It exists in a laugh,
in a melancholy sob,
in a mind’s fleeting thought
or a broken heart’s throb.

Earth, split my insides open
and watch my simple colors pour,
drink the rainbow from my blood
and shield your eyes from my core.
Oh heaven, read my lips
and shelter dreams from the storm,
watch me float from tending arms
and land me in my final form.

Dancing on a racing breeze,
my feet forget the ground -
they flutter vacant,
thoughts in flow -
they make no subtle sound.
But planted on the earth’s soft grass
the wind breathes through my core,
bringing aching colors
to the light -
a dream, a wish for more.

Over a field laid barren,
on the wind came your call;
high above our hands touching,
the sun watching us fall.
It’s witness to our dance,
our broken heart’s choir;
it gives us a taste
of the flames for our fire.

Drops of sunshine,
infinitesimally bound
between,
underneath,
or possibly behind
our world of flesh and dreams.
Perhaps a combination of the 3,
or perhaps none at all.
Lost in translation,
a broken language
no longer spoken -
tucked away
in a world inconceivable to our hearts
but home to our souls.

On my knees,
praying shade from the light,
only to find
the moon’s glare a sullen sight.
The twilight lasting
only the beat of a heart,
the colors raging fire
upon our soul dance’s start.
Now the moonshine casts shadows
of a waning heart to rage,
the beauty locked in the sunlight,
trapped within horizon’s cage.
The moon’s yellow shine
reminiscent of the sun,
the reflection of what was
once a dawn you begun.

Surrendered to a fading cry,
a call to you across the sky,
echoes bound between the stars,
the static left to wonder why.
When barely heard, a whisper sings,
a stolen song the calling brings,
a sullen heart to rage again
when the world’s end dawns the final spring.