in the silence of the floorboards,
and the cleanliness of stead:
the waters of your mind
are the creases in your bed.
i have felt the river flow,
i know its pull.
the Jordan calls with force:
the might of the bull.
but you are of unwavering stone castles,
the engulfing flames of a furnace.
of simple scribbles and perfect portraits,
the paradigm of personal service.
of shades of grey behind those eyes of blue,
nature’s green under your fingernails,
and fury’s red beneath your shoes.
the confidence and royalty of purple,
and the enchanting pink surrounding you.
you are of the patient and the strong;
the ache and joy of counting days.
the complexity of birdsong
and the beauty in each phrase.
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