Thoughts from a Thinking Girl

Without a place to land the singing bird moves on.

My finger traces coastal lines, I follow you on the map.

I hover in the liminal, the dream borders obsession.

I will write you a thousand times, impenitent, enrapt.

My finger traces coastal lines, I follow you on the map.

The heart, they say, has no edges. How many times must I release you?

I will write you a thousand times, impenitent, enrapt.

Salvation saves some things but not all. Even the heron flew.

The heart, they say, has no edges. How many times must I release you?

The river washes clean, leaves sorrow on its banks.

Salvation saves some things but not all. Even the heron flew.

I submerge in water’s warm embrace, to whom should I give thanks?

The river washes clean, leaves sorrow on its banks.

I hover in the liminal, the dream borders obsession.

I submerge in water’s warm embrace, to whom should I give thanks?

Without a place to land the singing bird moves on.