Quietly afraid
of the wind howling breaths away...

.
hands twisted in the mud...

You were the contrast
between the darkness...

He's the poetry moving
from her sun tattoos...

What is losing gravity
when the world has let go...

I had hoped you would sense
the cry of these last five weeks...

I feel as if May has swept me up onto its
hot air balloon, with devoted winds...

Dancing is what the trees do,
on a sun-sleepy ocean of inky leaves...

I haven't yet figured out
how I will take this Sunday...

Around the river bend she twirls...
wondering when the trace of dawn...

A little rain for you and I...
it's all I long for...

Remember me
for the moments where trees...