The current is swift

Hands planted new wild flowers on your skin. We’re night.
You smell of sweet grass and meadow. Braided. I taste longing.
You laugh. I memorize your glowing. I don’t move. But you move.
The cold air carries another alpine stream. I hold my breath.

An invisible bird sings a new name for dying. So we die.
My ending is perfect. Yours is secret. The current here is swift.
I add another page to my book of salt. Time is a pure ruin.
Your evergreen is holy. A star echoes. I remember to breathe.

(From my notebook.)

photo credits
(where not otherwise credited)

“Your sky” / photograph by the brilliant artist Annie Spratt on Unsplash.com

You can support The Palace with the purchase of Everything Is Important Until Nothing Is Important (2022), my first published collection of poems.