manifestations

of my soul: resilient

purple crocuses

resurrecting through

snow; serenading swallows
perched amidst blossoms;

petrichor (the smell?

of parched earth after rain); pink

peony petals

softer than trickling

water; the scent of grandma's

pillow–fragrant and

familiar like

honey for bees; tumble-dried
fabric pulled above

the knees, lavender-

scented and snug like sunny
meadows; words that go

down like chamomile

tea, the soft f and v in
“forgive”; cuddles–the

cousin of warm baths,

hugs–the loving aunt; cassette
tapes clicking into

place, Dan Fogelberg’s

mellifluous musings; the
invigorating

slap of exhaust-filled

air and untamed hair; Spanish
as smooth as asphalt;

meteor showers,

shimmering streaks across pearl-?

strewn skies; summer nights

as sweet and fluid

as watermelon drippings;

forests on forearms–

trees erected by

goosebumps–the dwelling place of

hungry wolves; howling

at the harvest moon,

they say "I love you to the

moon and back, always.”