Mar 18
Soft-spined hush—
wildflowers unfasten,
unravel in amber hush.
Morning spills,
sapphire- limned, breath-held.
Fingertips trace time-etched veins;
branches sway, unbroken
a hymn of fracture,
a lattice of hush.
By the river,
silver-throated, dreaming forward,
a shimmer of lost echoes.
Even water aches for direction.
Sky bleeds gold through splintered boughs.
Light pools in murmurs,
anointing restless roots.
Becoming is a quiet rupture.
And here—
where petals ghost against skin,
where rivers hum secrets through silence,
I learn:
Love is neither river nor root.
It is the sun,
burning quiet within.
wildflowers unfasten,
unravel in amber hush.
Morning spills,
sapphire- limned, breath-held.
Fingertips trace time-etched veins;
branches sway, unbroken
a hymn of fracture,
a lattice of hush.
By the river,
silver-throated, dreaming forward,
a shimmer of lost echoes.
Even water aches for direction.
Sky bleeds gold through splintered boughs.
Light pools in murmurs,
anointing restless roots.
Becoming is a quiet rupture.
And here—
where petals ghost against skin,
where rivers hum secrets through silence,
I learn:
Love is neither river nor root.
It is the sun,
burning quiet within.
