Walking through
heather and fern
onto a mountain hill
Laying
on a bed of stones
they press into my body
from different angles
Placing a hand
on my stomach
and wonder
where your stone
is placed
Finding a puce rock
weightless
filled with pores
ready to carry
your whispers
and fill the opaque holes
with auriferous veins
that your
words do
I will bring air
Home
It awaits your skin
if you are
ever in need
to be held
Related Blogposts
Dearest goodbye We talked in lines and moved between them Collecting what we had we walked around it Gifts of ideas all matter words naming the future more than anything else Nothing Something Everything We move around covered tangled laughing comes finally No one Someone…
The perfume smells like my Grandmother. Not as she smelled in recent years when I was an adult, but the way she smelled when I visited her and granddad when I was a kid. That’s a nice memory to explore, but how to use it in my math classes in…