Wingtips frayed from beating air
Buoyed up I can see what I wish
I had already known
Junkyards stacked like Jenga
Filled with must-haves
Bent away from intents
Trunks with holidays and families
Floating, I can see treetops
And sunlight before it’s filtered.
Flowers are polka dots for toddlers
And romantic walks that end in tragedy.
Someone has to do die.
What comes in between?
Rushing wind brings energy
Above the graveyard
Lives growing downward
Shoots sent sideways
Gifts lay on grass as if we could
Reach through the tangle
Time is lost being sorry
For a history