1
the books are stacked one upon the other.
they look as though even a whisper of a breeze
could send them tumbling to the ground,
like birds being shot from the sky.

2
you say that when you look at me
you see blank pages you wish to let your ink sink into.
each flimsy page soaking up pigment.
ink so deep and dark,
like the sky before a storm.

3
does fragility amuse you?
life, a series of tumultuous waves,
attempting to open the darkest of eyes,
even yours
to view the sapphire ocean
that will put flickers of light
back into the tips of your fingers.

4
wake up!
when you touch, really touch.
when you breathe, really breathe.
I know this existence is melancholy,
but just open your eyes.
If you look,
just outside your window,
you can see a hawk floating on the wind.