So it seems
morning light
comes softly
after rain
floating over thorns
and spikes
of pain
chisled metals
come to be
softly brushed
bristles
of silken needles
sharpened thistles
and I can release
my balloon heart
a bit up
to skies
and let the cool
air kiss its
surface quiet
In the daylight
At least clouds
do not always
burst from
layered peaks
at least
tears
do not push
one over rough
and common edges
at least whispers
haunt in a space
more softly,
kindly
expanding back
the walls
of a vision once
limited