The Minnesota weather outside this camper is drizzly and gray, but it doesn't feel much different than the weather back in the place I used to call home.
The cherries we planted out under the plastic sheet are blowing in the wind, and accepting the weather as it comes. They don't pray for rain or sun; they merely die or thrive.
I drank cows milk from a mason jar this morning, and the flavor is still in my mouth. Every exhale reminds me of the thick liquid dripping from the glass.
I want my poetry to resemble that experience. Opaque and thick, I want it to fill the containter in your heart, the carafe of your mind. I want it's taste to linger in your senses, not too sweet and far from sour.
The parts of you that I remember best are the extremes. It's more difficult to hold onto the simple moments of life. The facts fade from memory, the words disolve into the fat, and all we're left with are the emotions.
You've made me stronger, and more brave, and completely in love with the world as it presents itself to me. I love the world because your strength is in it. Your beauty is in every tree and the flowers that bloom at my feet. You're the reason the water flows, and my chest will continue to rise and fall.
I believe in me because you believe in me. Understand I have the faith in you that you hold for me. I want you to suceed and plant roots and throw your seeds. Hold your head high, there's no sense in giving up on the glorious.