Three Years Ago
I prepared to write under soil,
but left the water behind with the wind
when I stopped to cry.
I span flowers between my fingers
and prayers between my lips.
I eat crooked crisps and
sang, sang, sang
with a lunacy that never leaked,
but was recorded.
There are lines where I tip my neck
Back and look for the sky at night
Though the sky is everywhere.
Who was right, the one who
Believed in God, or the one who didn't?
I hung my head low.
The heat of the night curled behind my ears.
It stayed there, like a calling,
And at last, as clear as morning light -
Your touch came.
YOU ARE READING
July
PoetryI believe in the things I question the most, like my strength. God. And the happiness of July.
