i watch as she exhaled
her letters into the light of the evening,
falling, gently
tickling the spaces between my fingers.

slowly these letters
formed intricate beings in the air,
illusively elusive,
and these inexplicable geneses fell

on my fingertips, coins glimmering
in the swiftly darkening light and slipping, slipping off
the ends of my fingers and into
the final darkness of the night sky.

and so she started moving her lips
against the lightening moon,
weaving her way around stars and pulling
them down with her, a soft guitar string

threading through the small lights. she
released them into my open palms,
and i watched as they entwined with each other,
growing into inscrutable movement.

the weight of her words
was a deliberate and slightly shivering body.
it pressed its heaving breath into my palms,
its tiny being watching, wide eyes expectant for a response

and so now i’m sitting here wondering what to do—
in my palms a child bearing the fragility of this language



One thought on “groot

  1. This is a exquisite piece of poetry, creating a beautiful metaphor for the birth of new life.

    Hope to read more of your works!


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