a windy sunday somewhere in maine.

As I lay down amongst the earth’s children

I wonder if you’re okay, if you’d be okay

With me, and my back crushing your counterparts.

The shore below speaks softly, unlike you,

And I can’t help but grow unnerved by the crashes beneath us.

 

Time passes quickly here

Though you cannot see it

Through the thickness of weary sky.

The sky speaks in low whisper,

Carrying its icy heart to the mortals below

And I listen with a twitch,

For the wind sounds too much like you.

And I will try to reach for your hand,

The dirt making room for you,

Only to catch nothing but the wind,

Who weeps endlessly.

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