My thoughts grow in the
hollow vibrancy of the night.
Words and poetry are wrapped in water.
There is a thunder that exists in the
loneliness of a body longing
to be lost in a river—
There is a violence in the memory
of the pain that lives inside.
It numbs and cools, but remains
among the ridges of rock.
We watch clouds and birds passing
through, day after day, like it’s our purpose.
A sky exists in the human eye,
it is born empty, only the orange
divide of the horizon cutting through.
The world forms as we grow.
The world becomes as we grow.
We are born alone, yet become one.
As the days melt into each
other, we become one another.
We grow closer the more the night passes.