The pull of the day, of the years, of everyone’s needs leaves shadows and cavities from ebb’s never-ending taking, but the sun’s reflection warms me in oranges, and the glow stays. The light one way or another will illuminate, independent of ever reaching that haunted, hollowed space.
Not a beanstalk, but it might as well be, magic seeds sprouting the way to giant dreams, and in the center, a sunbeam passes through a hole in a leaf purposefully to reach me, or is it simply that light is at the center of all belief?
Insignificant the manmade pier seems, foolishly leading horizontally…
Sometimes, I prefer the blur, the softness, of out of focus, where it all becomes muted and fuses with the natural horizon, and even my femininity, graceful and soft-spoken, has a voice among the hushes, my lyrics freed but the language not audible or of this world, for it is my soul who recognizes this celestial light befalling before the sun bids us adieu, never resting, only sharing itself with others too, as this speck of a planet shifts, and upon this ray, I lay this kiss to be sweetly delivered to you.