buglike

buglike, we burrowed into the solemn dark,

seeking stillness, remembering

the weight of the sun as it climbs.

but the air in that room was fuzzy

with the texture of rain, in the way a door

lives to be opened. and i am tearing paper

from the nest of my womb,

and sometimes the birds are singing,

with every moment, the world's beating heart.

2 Kudos

Displaying 0 of 0 comments ( View all | Add Comment )