Dear You,

Far in the distance August knits a winter blanket. How shall we prepare for the wait in her footsteps or the anguish in her planning?

Images of never beginning or never ending haunt dreams that lull thoughts to sleep forcing me into the illusive and immaculate nature of things.

Joy is so careless running through trees stirring up winds but while sitting obedient in stillness Spring gives birth to a fire in the pit of my tightly bound belly.

Blue waves feel strange as the memory of you cools my bare feet when standing.

Love,
Me