Make a ceiling of this sky, indigo
in all its glory. Embrace the bound
-aries of this room, this infinite space,
this place we’ve been given to inhale
and exhale and grow to know our
-selves, each other. Gather stones
only for building bridges, glossing quiet
ripples on still waters. Listen for the
gossip of the stars; they know things.
They sing. All sting should come from
busy bees, no honeyed lips or flowery
speech. Hold a cloud in your cheeks,
find air where once was fear. Consider
lilies, birds, releasing dawn and start
-led song to the wisdom of this breeze.
Hum. Hiccup. Sneeze. Seize peace.
Prompted by Poetic Asides.