a love poem in moments
I know there’s no such thing as mine.
Watch me return, over & over
In all my mythology, there are only two loves.
The goldenrod are dying, and you are sure you’re doing all this wrong.
Your mother went dormant long ago and you live so far from the caldera, now.
Sometimes, our worst fears about ourselves are true. Then what?
What if you get curious with *yourself*?
I am drawing circles so I can give myself without losing myself.
When I first loved, there were no holes, save for myself.
Today, dozens of tiny grasshoppers had made their way to the sidewalk, presumably seeking an unfiltered sunlight. So what’s the lesson?