median tinsel
*I’ve made friends with wishes—blind, nameless things.
They sleep beside me, fearing idle nights,
So I cup them in my chest, whispering a lullaby,
As if warmth alone could teach a glow to stay.
And I wonder—if they slipped from my arms,
Would I still trace the sky for their spectre?
It hums softly in my palm, as if to ask the same,
While we walk dry earth under a cracked-bowl moon.
Algorithms hum, yet no pulse stirs the screen;
It streams gold, flawless—struggle unseen.
I fear my dreams are too slow, too behind,
Writing in static hymns, too human for their kind.
Still, they bleed like dusk through every vein;
I hold their hands and dance through every sprain,
Sewing constellations into our hearts—
The ones I once thought were just promised charts.
They don’t know my schedule, the ache in my eyes;
My lungs feel hollow, yet they teach me to breathe.
We are fragile saints of the sightless—willful pilgrims
Wordless, weightless, still walking, still hoping,
That faith is a kind of gravity too.*
leaden vigil
brittle bolt
teal ice
hot plume
hazy sequoia
wheat flicker
oak mural
🙏
vocal totem
maiden oriole
remote furnace