I do remember the you of long nights
fuller hair breathy words,
motherly incantations.
At the ****, obeyed its rhythm until
like my first kick, stretching the stomach lining
I spoke. Long dry at their cusp,
my lips breathed their own life.

Still weighed with wet earth,
drifted from winter to spring days
hair flyaways white laces Streaming —-
an untameable-robed-in-rough-overalls
creature (shirtless, sun on its back).
Inkling of rebirth called like the late-night
“Dinner! Wash the mud out your nails”.

Watered with pithy drops of soul,
I spit. Turn to a dried maroon prune.
****** the blossom from your cheeks.
Bury my toes deep deep deep
in the garden bed:
(Seedy little things, remind you of my infant hand).
Lament the days lost
in misunderstanding.

Each garden whim rode
between my summer scales, yet
I shed them for flight.
If only I knew my wings are in the time capsule
that you long to give me,
grounded in your earth with
hand-me-down tales,
colossus shoes to grow into,
and motherly love like a well.

We cry dry tears,
leave our throats like
filaments of ancient fireflies in a jar.
I do love you
and always will, so
let the seasons cycle back again.

fleet bare feet on tile floor
cold.
liberating.
Tip our toes into mythic water
pooling
in the grout.

puddles are mere puddles, after all.

In tiny sips,
you make me
bubble
burn
and lick my teeth.

hand me that one—
To hold in hand,
whisper my heart
within its pores.
To share my whims:
dresses I wore
sometime long past.

I dare not peek
To peel its peel,
study the lines
upon its raw.
To see the same:
summers now soil
this time in palm.

if morning thoughts be dust of dreams,
i amble about until
Evening,
with its spinster gown,
lays waste to all the hope of day.

Morning to
another moment.
Open the shades, lighten the dark
with intention.

See the
little clouds dapple:
free spirit beings
of their own.

I want the shade gone, but
I lift it every
Morning.