We remember them.
These words sit heavy,
layering my tongue
with a thick mucus,
sluggish, warm —
a reminder.
I feel for them
as I think about
this life,
this body,
this existence.
I could be you
or you I, given
different circumstances,
hopes, dreams.
You are feathers and bone,
sunshine and moon dust.
Every raindrop,
every falling leaf,
every dandelion seed
knows your name.
What makes it the right time?
I suppose only you (or I)
would know that.
Yours has come and gone,
beautiful in shape,
in essence,
in love.
I struggle on,
searching for that glimmer
everyone talks about.
As night creeps forward,
I hope for a new dawn
with the setting sun.