it has been days that feel like years since i've written any words
here
from that folded cerebellum
to hands that drip broken tea cups full of blossoming blue skies
and space
endless images drip behind my eyes inked--outlined
clouds once white become the leaves of songs
gifted offerings of birds & plastered dreams
what chapter is this?
what lies here with me--within this life?
the bark of summer trees or the borrowed aspects of others
i've gathered to my fragile flowered cups?
delicate presence awakening towards the sun
