I would have buried you
like what I always do with
things I’ve let go off. But at
nightfall, under the grandeur
of the harvest moon, I dig.
I can’t stop digging.
Do not be afraid to chart a course for the edge of the world, because sometimes, that is what it takes to find your own strength. The moon and stars may change with the seasons, but that wicked wind in your chest will never stop pointing you to where you are meant to go.
Change – for #ourpoetryjourneysep18
“I think the universe is conspiring in our favor,”
you whispered, smiling, as we walked across
the vast expanse, the call of autumn shook
the trees as leaves took their final dance in
elegant pirouettes, like a twist of magic with
their own orchestral beat. Today's forecast was
supposed to be thunderstorms, but here we are,
hand-in-hand, holding on to each other, in a
season where everything seems to be falling.
Fall – for #ourpoetryjourneysep18
We poured gunpowder into our coffee
and stirred it with matches. We stared
down every horizon with fire in our veins.
We traded the ocean salt in our eyes
with unfamiliar highways and star-lit
avenues. We wore canyons like cloaks
and wrapped our feet with asphalt ribbon
of the interstate burning beneath us.
I have never felt more alive.