Tomorrow we will be light.

There is a sacred girl,
fast at the fields
go get your feels
shes makin hers known
makin her own
in between the flies that fire
the stars flanking spires
the heart so heavy it drowns
moons tidal bounds
narrowing its cradle
flood. locks. flow. able.

To crawl up inside her secret locked wooden box of photographs
where she sits edge of bed and the echo laughs
where the world ceases fire, storms shuffle passed
It would feel like a future and not a storied past
 
To grip so tight 
your muscles ache
my hands fatigue to failure
 and failures a welcome fate
the moon has perched high
begetting the sun weight ... wait
(and we are both a little tired of this place)
tomorrow.
We will be light.