Wind kept

I am not she.
The view is not the same.
I sit by roses but don’t
see the thorns.
Even after all these years,
still full of the blush
of wonder

My air is warm, fragrant.
My heart speaks of
watercolor nights and
a breathless yearning.

I’m wild for you, but not
afflicted. I recite charms
through verse and song
by a bending light.

I speak in sunlight even
when the cumuli
starts to gather. Lying
face down in the grass.
Hope imprinted on my cheek.

My heart bleeds in syntax.
Just a gleaming of my
streaming soul. Writing what
touches me best.
Love. Fear. Happenstance.
A trembling mind.

The punctuation peppered
with sea salt and caramel.

I steadfastly sit by the ocean
as the boats drift away.
I chose to contend with the
wind. Making a symphony
with the air.

Chopin playing on against
the elements and tide.
Never just a passing note,
or a mere flash of a melody
burning or receding.

Here the pitch rings a psalm
of stormy serenity, a
rain-cleansed sun in a
perpetual state of grace.
The perverse strength
of fragility and hazel eyes.

-Tosha Michelle

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44 thoughts on “Wind kept

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