Grief is no inventory of images.
It’s a slideshow of emotion dipped in the darkroom
At the end of the hallway, saturated and fading, all at once.
Linen bleeds your ink.
You’re trying so hard,
It’s a slideshow of emotion dipped in the darkroom
At the end of the hallway, saturated and fading, all at once.
Linen bleeds your ink.
You’re trying so hard,
Stop collecting the Beauty into file folders.
Your mind is clouded, cluttered as it is.
Feel it like your last breath,
But without rattling lungs.
Listen like the bird call is palimpsest, collective, deciphered.
Auto-translate the heat of the day into love.
Drink honey.
Flip beetles.
Dust pollen. I’m doing it again.
Petrichor rising from the earth
(Soil, ash, sand, mud, smoke, rot)
Is a mother calling you home.
A seed with a parachute has places to go.
My legs are tired, but I follow.
I’m not home.
