Embarrassed of my beating heart flowing like ocean wave to shore of separated self. The crashing sings like a glue made of cinnamon scented memories that grows legs tall enough to touch pastry sky, just past the horizon of wondering what sweetness tomorrow brings, fearful still of falling from so far, I march forward.
I break things to put them back together. Chew to eat. If only the sacrifice meant that you would remember your soul, I would wash your feet with my collected clouds. As surely as the boat sees the lighthouse, so too do I see the source of brightness in you coming clean. You are likened to celestial nourishment, you are part of humanity’s constellation, your sparkling guides out your eyes.
On shore of separated self, your light calls me to write deep past the midnight hours of lonely pillow where crickets sing to find their kin a midst the dying grass of the season. What to make of the heart that welcomes winter in its spring, the heart that affirms failure with enough abundance to read words from a stranger miles away. I pray that you remember what you have even when you think you’ve lost everything, recall that your most prized possession is no thing.
by Kevon Simpson 2014 ©