I hold a claudron in my chest
for every little life that has stacked
a stairway closer to the stars,
reminding me there is more to living
than blooming and wilting,
more to loving than
those naive secret letters
or a clandestine rendezvous.
It's a lyrical conversation between
opening wide and laying still
until the volcano flushes over
with sins that are both thunder and ink
unwrapping the sunshine
painted by the sand on the waves
words etched on the canvas
dangling to be held by
a hand that's bold and kind
to store them through verses
of hues and seasons and perhaps
an array of falling leaves,
a song of eternity.
-