there are colors here;
beautiful greens and blues that vibrate, and warm.
they are not mine. we rise again:
our sunshine faces and hollow
fragile bones are moments screaming for
embrace. from where i stand, color fielded irises
feel vaguely out of touch like mammals encountering
distance for the first time after falling in love. i
speak stuttering sentences in search of
correct words lacking syntax and content, speaking nothing
and hearing silence break eloquence one more time. we
field our feelings like creatures of
benign habit, conjuring up ideas of being together
long after we have died when our bodies become the earth,
those token hollow bones feeding roots and giving life
in ways i said i never would. but we can't
always call all the shots.