The infinity of a rivers flow Belies a bed of ancient stones shaping the current The sound it upholds The drift of wood That once held a meadowlarks home

A perpetual story being told Held by water the nearest thing I have to home

Bound by blood, by suffering, we stitch ourselves together.

They’ve tired of us, I’ve tired of you, and you of me too— only so much weight one heart can hold.

But still, me and you, we’ll walk the fraying line, threadbare but together, as long as we remain.

No one sees the quiet fire, the untold courage it takes to stay.

No one knows we’re brave.

My grandmother always told me she lived many past lives,

reincarnated as a dragonfly, a guardian angel by her side.

Pink roses pressed against cold glass, the cool edge of a birdbath.

She left with a rattling breath, fading into the quiet of her next life.

burn out the lights turn to ashes From dust to bloom A pillar A plight Bathe in the pain Wash away Into the moonlit haze the quiet ache