The poetry isn’t in all these words —
It’s in knowing I survived them.

The first sip of wine,
The first and last
Sentence
Of a book.

The ending and beginning note of a song.
Last words,
First words,
Gravestones and last meals,
Vows meant to last forever,
And whatever song
Is running through your mind
At two AM.

And your smile,
When you feel listened to.

you inhale tragedies
and exhale poetry