In her bones
A cri de couer lies
Begging for liberation
From the ruminations
Her tongue infixed
Upon every inch
Of her beaten down body

Nothing is louder
Than silent tears
And 2 a.m. overthinking

I find you among the small things
And for that I am thankful
As the little things are all I have left

The warm tickle pressed upon my skin
From the heat of the sun
On a dewy spring morning

In the song of the birds
Not unlike those we used to watch
Flit across your yard

The scent of fresh cut grass
The same I smelled from you mowing
As I picked dandelion bouquets for Grandma

In the smiles of passing strangers
Because to you there is no such thing
Only friends you have yet to meet

I find you among the small things
And I will cherish them profoundly
Until we meet again

How can you complain about your life
Lonely and devoid of light
When you lay beneath a blanket of stars
Each and every night