I was running through these pages,
Your books, I dried them all up.
I threw away what was rotting.
We all tried to mend.
Take off our surfaces and laid them out in the sun to dry.
Your face was cracked.
I took you down to the water to heal your knees,
You’ve been standing through this.
Wash off the heaviness,
And those rocks in your pockets are starting weigh you down.
You didn’t notice.
On our way back, I almost stepped on it.
Sinking into the grass - covering miles of your sight,
I found it.
Almost blended in was the smallest purple flower budding - on it’s way to finding its way.
We were relieved, as we know that she was on the way to
Recovering.

We need to start building again,
When I can’t sort though my own anxiety I can barely appreciate this pavement, or these colors,
or you, or me.
I don’t touch any love surrounding me.
It’s acknowledged on a dimly left surface level,
like wine & cheese.
Without this looming concept of all the other places I ‘should’ be, I can finally be here and there
And anywhere I actually want to be.
We don’t have to constantly build.
Love is already seeping from our pores.
We started cracking,
Now all of the bandaids are too small.
And stop blowing kisses!
We’re all sitting down now and were listening!

How can you not see that?
Open your windows.

It’s plastic bags & paper napkins that taught us left
from right.
Saying grace at dinner but not in prayers.
Teaching wholeness & caring words through these paper napkins,
can't you see,
your words were too light.
Nothing seeped through.
We could spend days wading in rivers or
Driving through fields.
Catching the sun turnover,
shadows of trees hitting your face,
Light, dark, light, dark.
The smell of dirt soaking through your skin.
We had all of this time.
But we never had the chance to learn anything that would fall through your paper plate,
And hit your heart.
Nothing that would turn the moon on its back.
I feel so sorry.
Now we’re all too heavy to catch the sun.