in your voice
i see
a golden
net
and
banks
of soil
wet
and bruised
from birthing
wildflowers
and the sap
spilling
slowly
from eucalyptus
that I watch
(and
you must too)
and the Summer sun
breaks
and runs
and runs
in your voice
i see
a golden
net
and
banks
of soil
wet
and bruised
from birthing
wildflowers
and the sap
spilling
slowly
from eucalyptus
that I watch
(and
you must too)
and the Summer sun
breaks
and runs
and runs