Ill burn this down
to make room
for your sky
full of stars.

words weep unhurried
passing over paralyzed
breath from none
to numbers.


they say eyes are a portal to
the breath of life
each strung out moment
played in the anthem of hands

machines match
a thousand notes
sung in the distance
between fingers
and string

between, pause.

birds, vulnerable
to the sky
in natures abdomen
our
reflection in campfire sonnets

Sipping wine from our sleeves
smell of earth clings to broken skin
bruised by
light strokes of
intention

Zero hour was
found within the rush
of the turning book
pages, that burned
like a soldier
lying in the sun.