Her eyes glow with fireflies
As we sit on the porch of that abandoned cabin,
The still lake shines with stars
That drift through the air around us
And adorn the skies above.
There is darkness to the East, where the city used to be,
Oddly gentle, filled with pinpricks of light
That look down upon those of us who survived
As we dream once again of reaching for them.
Leaning forward, her hair slips past her knees,
Tickling the wooden step beneath her
And drawing my absent hand through the strands.
We're fine now, truly,
Alive and well with the homegrown tomatoes and fresh-baked bread
Filling us up more than the morning coffee of rush hour ever did.
YOU ARE READING
Life Will Bloom in Our Shadows
PoesíaThese poems that will accompany you far beyond the end of this book are stories of human connections, bonds that slip through our fingers like silk ribbons or stretch out from us as vast and as eternal as the starlit sky. Third place in the Winter R...
