I remember our days
spent on the riverbeds,
when the earth would easily
rise to meet us
as we left swirling trails
of footprints in the dust.
Where the sky would open
and bleed crystalline drops,
reminding us of the storms of April.
I remember the song
that the rushing water sang,
in harmony with the breezes
that painted rushes of color
through the air.
On those days,
in those endless blue hours,
it was easy to float
though the rapids moved
faster than we knew.
For your broken, bruised skin
could testify
that running and drifting
with the current's pull
was always easier
than resisting,
though now, we prefer
to stand defiant
in the frozen water.
YOU ARE READING
wildflowers
Poetry"wander through fields of lavender and smile beneath the setting moon, for the winter is over." a collection of original poems inspired by springtime, the stars, and laughter.
