You are a circle / Embracing my finger / The short script you hold / On your metalic frame / Holds in its spiritual hands / The fate of this soul / And these eyes / Look to capture this image / And these fingers touch / Faith in the form of jewelery. / Thank God for this ring.
He invites me / To walk with him across the lake / But instead of quickly jumping up / And asking him if we can skip across / I still fear I cannot do such things / Even though I have just taken the hand / That formed lakes, oceans, and even the dry land / Im wishing to be standing on right now.
As I Make My Tracks in it / (With my feet attached to nerves attached to my brain.) / i observe the color of snow. / White in its purest form / gracing the dirt with its presence. / A gift from the clouds. / Things beyond me. / And as I drag the legs of each letter in a trail across the page / (meaning attached to words attached to lines) / i observe the color of poetry. / Art in its purest form …
as yours reaches over / to embrace it / it is thundering / the windows tremble / and my heart melts / with the tree trunks / this is a storm / we both feel / the need to love / another / specifically / and intensly. / without us / this storm / would be absent of lightning.