I remember seeing the spike on Virgo
that soft emulating glow,
and I wanted to be there.
Summer disinters life from the ground.
As much as heat nourishes
it's power and element must not be tempted,
for it can indiscriminately destroy.
Things become alive again
from that which has remained dormant,
in the eyes of the eager.
Like a map only I can decipher,
the vernacular of solitude
whisper to me sweet thoughts about the mountains.
An explosion just beyond this universe
causes the butterfly to shutter her wings,
sending a chill to my bones
and a fever through my blood.
I pick up a pebble
for every part of my heart
gone missing but not lost.
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