My name; to be loved.
By two gentle arms and hands.
Uncovering the New.

Funeral pyre canopy.

Green be thee eyes looking inward.
As the soft speaks.
I look.
I stare.
Touching not.
But cool air.
I wander.
Mindlessly in fields.
I see the eyes that ponder.
Upon me that feel.
& search for no longer nothing.
For it is now real.




Garrett Johnson.