Questions

morning melts from mourning eyes

dewy plants, do we

hurt blooming

on fractured lands

can we, rebuild home?

revive recall remain

reflow, resort, return

to drawing pathways in drops of water

on lime leafs for bees to slide

it makes honey more sweet

if they have fun

what happened to the lime tree and the beehive when they took your yard down?

smear house ruins with honey lime flowers scent spreads when crushed

I hurt in words, they’re endless like memory mutating once recalled

colored every time it plays in mind I remember the yard was synthetic green

luscious with imported plants they needed care to survive

the yard faded into paler weeds pending construction sites look like waiting

wildflowers grow through shattered relic

they match the flowers that ornamented your walls

gypsum engraved with flowers older than me

the remnant of an eighties trend covering layers of paint you remembered too well

white, beige, blue, pink a color for the walls every few years

but your sight started deteriorating so you locked them behind the gypsum flowers

I never saw those colors or the ways the house existed before me

questions:

can you vulnerable art loud?

what’s silence when everything speaks?

how eloquent is old furniture?

who do you refuse to outlast living?

who’s god writing for?

how long is it to healing?

can I stand outside time?

which years mark your idle era?

how slanted are the walls of your history?

what words rename your favorite objects?

how does language make you feel connected?

how much grass have grown over previous yous?

how hot were summer sands when they buried him?