She Comes.

By way of storm.

the waters winding
in a fury of death.

And She. is painting
the sky

Black.

For now.

I am not your favourite person
it is not right, you know nothing about me
I am a closed book,
don't open me to read,
the empty pages are not yours to fill,
I am normal, don't make me feel bad
It is exceptional, the part you expect me to fill still,
But I am my own person,
Keying my destiny to be apart.

I am that which is becoming

The realization of my dream

Which I’ve been asleep to for these past ten years

And ten years from now I’ll wake again

And in a new direction turn suddenly

Unendingly

And into the sun

today
a strange milky light
rolling over the hills
like a blinding blanket
I caressed naked branches
their fragility a statement
plum trees apple trees
peach trees cherry trees
and I a witness
to the dignity with which
they carry their wounds
I love trees because
their shadow is not full
of bitterness.
perhaps
they know how to cry
for the absence of wonder

you see
much is going on
beyond words:
all of me and
this tree
feel
there is a depth
in everything