There are things to be told,
but no one to tell.
And even if you wanted
to carry
my secret heart,
I could not let you
bear its weight.

A connection steeped
in words
and wounded flesh —
there is no erasing time
to give us
what we want.
Substitute a tangled life
and suffer it
to come on hard
and headstrong.

But out walking the weeds,
I keep throwing seeds,
where the ground
freezes and thaws —
where a fence
casts cold shadows —
where time has no mercy.
We two are kissed
by frost.

The world does not know
what it wants to be,
but summer courts
these memories,
and the disallowed.
I find winter’s low sun
and gravity
just as effective
for falling.


About Emily

I may or may not have: A. Dirt B. Ink C. Paint D. Wool under my fingernails.

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