Scraps of …

Hearts thrown to the floor.

Trying to grow, like grass in the middle of

A Red July.

Torn apart, but so close:

Touching.

Skin to Skin.

Screaming to the sky,

Screaming to the woods,

Screaming to no one.

Take time to learn things again.

How to speak, how to find the beauty

In rain, to appreciate the

Moss that covers the forest floor.

Down the River I go.