my bones break from the sheer weight
of the imagined moment where
you trill on my bough
like a wan heron
or the immense warble
of a bird
or say,
where the eternal breast of
the shore is touched a hundredfold
by the wave's quivering hands,
where the salt is poised in the bendable
light swaying in the water against
the high noon.
what moves the sea
is what moves the fruition of
my being to where you are,
near or away, still like a photograph
close to my chest, nursing your
warmth in me, like a fire to
a hearth but you are not with me.
Oct 8, 2015
Oct 8, 2015 at 9:44 AM UTC
my bones break from the sheer weight
of the imagined moment where
you trill on my bough
like a wan heron
or the immense warble
of a bird
or say,
where the eternal breast of
the shore is touched a hundredfold
by the wave's quivering hands,
where the salt is poised in the bendable
light swaying in the water against
the high noon.
what moves the sea
is what moves the fruition of
my being to where you are,
near or away, still like a photograph
close to my chest, nursing your
warmth in me, like a fire to
a hearth but you are not with me.
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