i write of love and all the pretty things —
things that grow wild and free and maintain no care
for what the atmosphere claims to be of worth.
words swish into the wind,
dispersing as a child puffs the dandelion —
into the big blue sphere that feeds life
into my hungry eyes.
they look past all the painted colors and worn threads.
beyond the flowered hills and silver lakes, where naked [bare]
the truth unfolds.
blooming, vibrant, wild, and free.
i unburry the treasure held within truth and taste the freedom on my lips.
freedom downpours, releasing gravity’s hold to where i land.
freedoms in the impossible — if only you believe.