petrichor

if i sit still enough
and wait for the silence to approach
i can find the silence isn't still at all
and welcoming it in
i hear ambitious bird calls
trumpeting, forceful and beautiful
and the tentative sound
of rain on leaves

education frustration

it was the same feeling
as before
that one time
i made my english teacher cry
because we weren't treating literature
with the proper respect
and i couldn't sit back
and not defend the beauty
of wilder
and emily webb

so today
i was horrified
as you sliced it open
watching the brutal dissection
red and raw underneath

mystic poetry doesn't need categories.

you were taking apart
something i could never put back together

skye

no sign of life
cold oversized hills
only betrayed by
occasional
boot prints

shades of mauve
shadowed
stalwart, faded trees

melted snows
gusting around
ruins worn and torn
roots and branches
steadily gaining

unaware
muddled
water
patiently carving out stone

here,
mornings come too late
and nights end too soon