it is difficult to write in a hammock
not to find the words, the words
are children hiding, desperate to be sought
but the mechanics are awkward
fickle wind jostles
ecstatic chimes
traffic sounds like the ocean
if you listen
and that smell
fresh rain, grass
a barbecue ignited
this hammock holds my heart
it is my lotus
supporting me so that I may be
in the world, yet not of it
it lets me hang suspended
floating higher and higher—
glimpse her now before she is
but a speck in the sky
swaying, yet somehow perfectly still
tress rustle, jazz hands leaves
spackling the air, don't miss a spot
fill in the cracks
a raindrop kisses my lip
Welcome Home I've Missed You
if it weren't for the chill in my back
I'd stay here forever
no one wants the hammock
on this dreary afternoon—
lavender ice clouds carved
out with silver streaks, axel lift
you see, hammocks are not just
for sunny days
in fact, you won't learn a damn thing
from a hammock
on a sunny day
their secrets aren't safe
in the sun
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