By Renee Pettitt-Schipp
I will not close I will not let
so much as one petal curl
as long as this light can reach me.
So long as the clear
still I soak up
the song of the world.
What does it mean
to own each
day of desolation?
It means letting the soft words
of a hundred birds fly into you
arrows finding flesh
still letting the one sun
and in these times of burning
find your fire.
It means letting the new leaves
of each other
find an opening in you
though your ribs sing in the wind
and your heart clangs without its cage
bright red like any target.
Though at times you are thin and waning
pushing through each new day’s gravity
hold wait expand
put out your best blooms
send your colours into the darkness
do not pull back