Sunday, July 27, 2014

distant storms and almost butterflies- I want to sleep outside

love and sparks
and breezes

silent lightning
and small voices asking for help

a bed full
to the point of not moving
and empty to the tips
of cricket cries

breezes, again
the world sweeping
the past past you

air that smells like rain
(there is a word for that.  I almost learned it recently)

is there a word for
a heart that smells like love

that feels it in the lack of
atmospheric rumble

brushing immobile tendrils
of hair too used to being wrapped
in a ponytail

until the rumble comes
deep and distant

it doesn't even quiet the crickets
but it drives
the wind

and tells you
in no uncertain terms
that you
are not
all there is

the silent noise that was
the souls that did nothing but touch

will never be

so bask
in all of it.
the wind, the light, the chirp, the rumble
the empty and full and soft and hard

that is what
it all is

and all
we can ever