In that former innocence
a second sun bloomed
in my heart, and I
tucked dreams
and hopes
within my small fist
a moth within-
I held it
tense,
in careful regard.
Sometimes
I would tear, slightly
a ghostly wing
having
no space
in a hand to
move:
I shook or would
startle.
And so I began
when it was night
and I could hear the
urgency silenced
day-to-day
to still squirrel away
each fold of brain, the
tender stomach
delicate bones of a toe/
all beneath my pillow
where I would remember
whenever
I could rest
and today, there
I hold my hand
in sleep, reaching
feeling
something
alive
in my hands.
Tag: anxiety
epiphyte
We, built like river reeds
wrench the heart: holding on
who root claws
upon rock & between crevice
like orchids hold the very air
they need/ somewhere above the jungle
where rain prefers to pass,
and must pull pull hard
as feels unnecessary
when everyone says it should be easy;
but the air is thin
broken air.