Frame of reference
Swallowed a moon and yet
felt light as a feather
between rows and rows
of watchful crickets.
The path was worn
and the brambles high
like a happy trapping
inside a sleepy wood.
We fit like a framed portrait
of a timeless embrace
with winter stars
or summer lightning.
The times between
There is a space that fits
no exact dimensions and only lasts
as long as the breaths taken
between endearments and curiosities.
I like that space, where it is quiet
and just for us, when a whole world
condenses to what fits inside our hands.
