A Light Lovesong

Sometimes its hardest, being rooted in the ground.

No solace in knowing the clouds are not truly free.

And I could you ask to pray for the wilting parts of me

that are useless before the storm. I’m not yet a man like

a tree.

You couldn’t have known the wind that bothers me.

The soft ideas of culture that linger in the way we love

and the way we think about what ought to become right.

The ground holds you up and I start to think of how pretty

you’d look to drift among all the atoms in the air.

The silly things become the loveliest. Each laugh is whole.

I know of no tomorrow, only a past that doesn’t want to become

lonely as we go through today, walking towards unseen things

that we may come in time to love.

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