curious to see it, feeling askew, miracle eyes.
meadow shores, upon a beating heart, harpoon motion.
it was easier to believe than to disbelieve, such fragile creatures.
it was segue into crucifixion—everything we should receive.
i watched. she
noticed rebellion, it struck a nerve.
if to adore by science’s type, would it be sufficient?
if to cherish by religiosity, would love be cultic?
we place candles upon squares. we surround them with flowers. with flame flippant throughout cosmos: what has died—that charisma may blossom, to arise?
so many stars, to kneel and talk to ants, hearing wisdom
in manifest.
it feels like privilege. it seems it would be difficult. what are cultures demanding? it appears painful, with want to give, with need to cull approval.
a soul pushed passed pardon. a spirit exceeded spatial spheres.
many colors. working with ease, sore promise, to die so early, to breathe through excruciation.
to realize why a soul would cherish a drumbeat.
