bounce

strings lift her eyelids, wrapping her skin to flip, touching the ground and bouncing up to the sphere, where waters erase land. her body no longer listens to the track or the signs posted, choosing instead to tear in diameters, jumping into fresh creeks to stand in glory of that which shines in volume ahead of the hills. it's radiance breathes for her, gently cutting the strings above her head, and splitting her hemispheres. her dress falls to the ground. the locus releases her blue sparkle and that is when she wakes up. looking around, she sees all is One.


smiling she throws the ball to the kids nearby.

falling

her translucent eyes play with the matter that forms walls of rubber. she walks through stems, reviewing maps of dendrites and rewiring codes for the neurons to speak to each other. the network lifts her dangling toes as she swings in colors mixed in nostalgia. her feathers glide in tears, filling oceans with waves, teasing rocky cliffs to fall to pieces for that moment of meeting before running into the cold. yet even in freezing status, a golden chime holds her hand, placing the sound into her heart of the place her eyes have searched for. its softness has no map. it is a direct connection. a flight over flowing in cascading falls.

light

the current softly breathes,whispering warmth as sparks are cradled in synaptic fusion of blue murmuring. the waves are heard before they reach out for the caress and the loop circles a magnetic field as pebbles kiss the shore. the emission breaks the shell for its natural frequency to fly and dive once more in gentle waters. giggles open the lungs helping the oscillating lines connect, creating universal tempos to beat in the heart. a right angle aligns the sparks with the Conductor, attracting electrons to flow parallel, tuning in with the waves on the radio. its high amplitude breaks the shore, radiating the signal into a vastness of a star.

love sits on the repeat button for it to be your song.

shine

yellow glowing bulbs warm her fingers as she touches the air above her, lighting the playground and clearing the sandboxes for the laughter to be freed. she expands without leaving a shadow, melting in the yellow and sparkling in the stars. the movement of the clock only brings the feeling to wrap blankets of silk around and within her. the spinning silk, slides in and out of the infinity, forming constellations for the fingers to trace in awe.

air

her skirt opens as petals sunbathing on fresh cut grass threads, waiting to be picked and sewn into a coarse brown fabric. with every second, she feels the pinkness in her cheeks sucked into the round smiling cherubs that float around her. she can no longer deny what the catbirds sang and feels a heated anger as even the sun dances awaiting the union. in the clouds of such joy, she begins to wonder if falling into his branches could lighten her flight. that was her mistake. everything was minimized as a rock, a strategic step for her to reach the peak, without any appreciation for the bouquet. if she could only realize this, she would never have to reach for anything. it would instantly be experienced as the blowing wind that gently opened her skirt.

listen

The letters stand strongly in rich soil with nurturing branches and fruit for the birds to dive in. The leaves quietly connect with the sun in gestures, accepting its colors and falling with grace to decorate the plain pavement and then crunching into the sounds of the Earth. Shattering into scattered shapes, torn apart to be stuck on the bottom of converses or scuffled along with gum wrappers, dumped into clean trash cans, they continue the cycle. It is not for the rhythm but for the sound that connects the circle into One, lifting the leaves to shake to the ground again and again. It is this vibrating sound that brings thanks into the world.

lightness

drawers politely store the stories, prison cells for memories longing to be freed and yet she pushes more photographs and recorded dusted sorrow in the wooden plank, shutting it with a content that traps her soles to stand in yesterday.

rather than hold more weight, a rebellion of truth strikes the borders and splits the plank in half, pouring out essays of conviction murmured in loud, small corners and lipsticks of shades that dressed as prey, kissed as sirens and faded with desire smear against the floor. torn, folded concert tickets, dead petals and printed emails pile as mountains, bringing her knees to fall with the present.

lost in her own designed avenues, she walks the beginnings, retracing her steps, bursting in repeatedly random laughter holding hands with a cry of sadness in meeting the endings. and this continues with every landmark until her room overflows with tears braking too slow and crashing into the glass windows. as her yesterday feels the fresh air, it evaporates, returning her clean pieces. with every piece the light clicks brighter, shining her reflection in the sea.

more beautiful than what she sees, is a feeling of experiencing a truth she realizes absent in those wooden drawers. a feeling to be exhaled free of the birth of its breath. and that is how she learned to fly with the birds.

open

The shell cracks straight down the center, as the past and future fall on their back and the gentle waters lift the pearl past the gates. Feeling the warmth of the waves calm her nervousness, she says her farewells to the frames that held her and embraces the softness.

free

follow

Standing on the umbrella, splashing waters kiss her nose, squeaky frogs jump into her pockets, laughing she holds onto the Arm guiding her through the racing waters. Gliding past jumpy fish, mountains peek through offering strength and birds extend their wings inviting flight but she smiles feeling the love as her only transport.

bee

cup of tea

The petals fall patiently cradling in the warm breaths of air. Yellow murmuring buzz heats its leaves and she turns down the stove to cool the breeze. Opening the teapot, a blooming smile dances within the herbal fragrance, as she pauses to sip the enchantment that nurtures her stem. It flows continuously, giving moisture to the cracked soil marks near her calves and rising above the waves surrounding her crown. Encircling and spinning records play a harmonic concordance, erasing the archives and regenerating the notes to stand as one.