Summer Solstice

We beckon

across sun-burnt fields

with lips like red-skinned apples

to the deities of summer


we sleep in crumpled bags on the forest floor

we feel free

but we soar like leaves

following a guided current


we find peace

in the torrent

rushing through wide-spread fingers and toes

where blessings spawn deep

under crystalline grottos

with green frogs and mosquitoes


when we dance under ink stained skies

our bodies yield to the cries

of serenity

– that grows in rows between emerald fields

where the cicada’s song builds

in search of love


we witness existence

in a vast, wild land

where winds breathe

and waves kiss the sand

– that is why we take a stand

to protect it


because we worship summers

like the wombs of our mothers

for the gifts we are given

– and we know that

from first breaths to heaven

our lives do not belong to us

if not for them.










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Glorified milk steamer by day, writer by night.

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