Sentimental drift

You held each star up on a string

and I swear every one was a lighthouse.

Caught off guard by the beauty,

I set course in a sentimental drift –

swan-diving into the ether.

Letting go, again.

 

Remember to forget where we came from.

Each line on our forehead,

each scar on our hands,

does not define our existence.

We are what we feel, when we feel it.

 

Messengers, take heart.

Roll down your window and make waves in the aurora night sky.

I’ll call you when I figure it out.

I’ll photograph this wasted time,

and wear it like a charm around my neck.

Nobody puts baby in a corner.

 

M.

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