Everything

Oh forests galore, soft mossy floor I walk with care, then quicken my pace, searching for a pop of yellow ore. It must be a myth, an old wives’ tale. I’ve never seen such beauty. And I remain unchanged. But if I find it, at day’s end tucked between forgotten tree stumps, I’ll emerge from a forest changed, something is different either the world, or me, holding, the golden dream

Some people are made of flower petals, or hard, stony rocks. Some are black holes draining the light from everyone nearby. Some people carry the elements inside: water, wind, earth, metal and me: fire. My mother once brought home a psychic who told her I was too much fire. Said to drape the room in blue with curtains, sheets, my clothes too to cool the heat that lives in me. A little color theory. But there’s a small ember tucked beside my lungs deep flames simmering like the

I like eating dinner for breakfast and breakfast for dinner. I like the smell of rain in the air. I like counting the gulps of water I...