like a knotted fist squeezed so tight
that creases fall into crisp white lines
feel the heartbeat circulating,
pulsing through the membranes
etched into the tissue of this
fist-knotted remembrance,
hopeful succession into the white capped seas
a simple touch, a simple shove  
and a burden to keep afloat the flood
holding onto my own gnarled fist
I think there was a stalk of lavender
crossed in the palm of where
the wild things lay,
churning nightmares and twisted sheets
cast upon the dusty shaft of sunlight
and I'll be alright, this fistful of lavender
scented of my dreams to keep
and future to see, the love yet to be
to break into tears at the sight
of beautiful architecture,
the foreign language unsettling on my tongue
never let go of this fist,
the fistfull of lavender