In silenceI found a mature homenot in need of my touch. Reminded me of wild flowersblind to pursuityet being and beckoning. My dear,who lead a trailfor Summer’s steps highlightedby Moon’s gaze to thefront of my withdrawal? I said,if photographs are wrinkledby flood of tearsI couldn’t imprisonthen they were meant to fade;alongside their attachments.


My God neglects mebut I’m never enviousHe placed my fatein a way I’ve to call out to it,and I call out to it every other day.I cry alone to hide my tearsthe rain I hide fromcould’ve been my God’s blanketto hide those tears with,I talk to him still.My God doesn’t listen to memaybe I whispered,speakingContinue reading “Tracking”