Placed and healthy:
ripe for the joke of
the plucking and tucking
where once there was air.
We roam and stumble,
disrobed and sweaty,
through fields where
our names are unknown.
Puckered and as wise as
our skin will allow:
we’re nobody here
and it’s beautiful.
Slide in and feel the
broken, burning love
of all that is mulch
beneath our feet.
These jumpers lay
in the peace we shrug
from our shoulders.
#365DaysOfPoetry