a path re-braided by footfall—
each step old,
yet wholly other.

-

We endure,
rooted and vast,
speaking nothing
but becoming everything.

-

Even now.
Beneath broken myths,
green insists—
leaf by breath.

-

-

Split souls splice
in stillness.
A mending’s pace
is shy,
but ever
forward-threaded.

-

Sabbath’s breath is slow—
the kettle sings forgiveness,
sermons drift like steam,
children chase the sunlit floor,
grace lingers in marmalade.

-

•Dazed and Confused•

Fog-bled corridors, mind,
a minotaur’s cathedral—
silent bells toll thought’s
undoing.
Dazed and confused,
I drink from cracked urns
of self,
where mirrors murmur
in broken Latin.
Moss grows on memory.
Night’s breath bruises time.
Truth flickers,
a moth drowning
in cathedral wine.

-

I stitched myself to the shade
his eyes spoke—spring's vow,
unbloomed, still swelling with maybe,
eyes ancient,
like pages of my father’s book—
open, unfinished, always returning me.

-

Golden— as if a trick.
What’s sublime?
A lie
writ in cursive light,
unrehearsed.

-

Poet: "Oh, how generous of you. Let me guess—another tragic love story where the protagonist stares longingly at the moon?"

Muse: "Please, I have some standards. I was thinking more along the lines of a houseplant's existential crisis. Much more relatable to your usual audience."
//Captioned//

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