I look inside to find myself,
anything to find my story:
the dance, the cry at 2 am.
The candle burns low; you sure you want this smoke?
Thin veils breathe over me.
Plumes uncoil, couple and fuse.
Words I have to give, spirit, imagination
pulls me apart to see.
The little stars inside. The flowers fool my soul, verbally undress me with hard-palmed fists. How insidious my grasp as I am…where?
I get closer.
Fumble, fall, fail, loathe, hate, rip, bleed.
Then I catch myself.
Right there, so good, say please.
I look over my shoulder.
I see her.
My eyes soften for knowing,
tell me who to love.
Copyright © Kelly Huntson and findingwhatssweet.com
“Beloved, gaze in thine own heart, The holy tree is growing there”
~William Butler Yeats