Her breath was windchimes
on a windy day.
She walked like the radio
in traffic.
She danced like bugs' chirp
on a warm summer night.
When she breathed she heard doorbells.
When she walked she heard dogs barking.
When she danced she heard trees falling.
I knew she didn't see herself like I saw her.
But what I need her to know is
when she dances the doorbell is next to the windchimes -
when she walks there is a dog barking over the radio -
when she dances a tree may fall in the woods but the bugs are still chirping -
She doesn't know how close she is.
YOU ARE READING
Her Blue Dress: A Collection (Watty's 2019 Winner)
PoetryA collection of poems, cover by: @itsmarrosee || I am the fray at the end of the yarn, cut from the new blanket, before it becomes a gift.
