fragile bump inside me
unknown to most
smaller than a pin
and just as painful as you go

you were almost in my arms
but you fell too fast and now you sit heavy on my heart
one day to be reunited

you were almost mine to hold, to love, to raise-
but my dear, you were needed elsewhere

almost mine to love but, heaven loved you more so
he took you from me to keep for his own

almost mine, but you didn't want to stay here

almost, my dear.

almost.

Swish, swish
boom, boom

baton in hand.
beat goes down.

Sound appears as if my hands had that power.
They don't-

Yet when I show a beat, a sound appears.

I sit with an empty page in front of me
And an even emptier mind.
Frustration boils inside of me
But still no words come...

I let my head fall into my hands.
For what is a writer,
A poet,
Without her words?

I lost the way home from the moon and
instead landed among the galaxies of
far away ideas and cultures

I thought I was lost, but it turned out that
home was not where I thought it was.

Instead, it was among the trees and tall grass where the
crystal clear water churns over and over my bare feet in the sandy shores
and
where I can hear the sounds of silence cascading down my back and
where no man had thought this is where we would be free

Home was not where I thought it was,
and that's okay.