earth tones and parking lots

i.

change.

vines with nails, holding my hand.

breathe it in

cosmic pressure.

i sound alive but what if i'm simply

not?

the seasons change too quick - you saw it all,

felt it, anyway. watched the sky turn red.

i've got hummingbird wings

and i live outside your window; far.

ii.

past.

i screamed a lot in the silence.

bled out for things that didn't deserve it.

lived to regret it, or not.

drew circles in the dirt and thought i knew

where to stand.

iii.

present.

atoms and black holes: pressure.

had a fist around my life until

i let it go.

falling through the trees, landing in the brush.

assessing my injuries,

trying to pluck the sun out of the sky.

iv.

future.

i'll trip over my feet. fall in and out again,

i'm sure.

make up some nonsense in my head for who i am,

but all of it will be meaningless.

write a million words.

sing in the sunlight.

melt under the light of the moon.

watch days slide by.

claw the thorns out of my palms.

cry laugh burn and do it all over again.

v.

change.

once i was on a boat in a sea of darkness,

but it wasn't a boat

and i wasn't alone.

i'm shooting through time.

speed of light

it was flashlights in the dark,

soft glowing flames,

a small sprout on a crow,

broken galaxies, the unfairness of it all,

pocket knives and cat eyes and jagged rocks.

plaid, croissants, poetry.

i am it, and it

is i.

i am becoming