that summer
was a wishing well

golden coins -
we threw ourselves
in sacred water

splashing gods
to tell them

we are here

a death

quiet and still,

preferred for the space

it creates

the oddity

of being broken

when joy fills the cracks

between pieces

loose gravel -

the unsure ground

we stand on


#3lines

the way we measure

time between

writing each letter,

this unmarked page

has grown into a year

on days as cold

as a heartless lie

I take small bites

of the sun 

and pretend it isn't getting

any darker