I have curled around your middle, and you may not realize, but I am holding you up.  
Your hardness surrounds you, but the veins show the scars of sobs through your skin;
I cradle those in the softness of my greenery.  
Cry, weep--your water feeds my leaves.  

The sunlight pours into our clearing every morning, 
and we, together, will be fed;
I will hold your head up, and you and I 
will close our eyes and bask in the golden afternoon.

When the cool night comes, we will stretch, together, 
and breathe the stars in and out, puffs of cloud.
And one morning, your fullness will astound the sun;
you are straight, solid all the way through.

photo via

1 comment:

Cambria said...

you are a r.e.a.l.l.y. good writer. I enjoy you.