between fold and flame

over cheap psychedelics

and too much booze,
let me see beyond
if only for a while.

let the world tilt,
not into chaos,
but into awe.

let my eyes
drink deep
from skies so clear
they taste like forgiveness,
like nectar
for the soul that forgot
how to be still.

let my body
feed only
on mountain air
spiced with pine
and woodsmoke,
chapped lips,
and unbrushed laughter.

let my mind
bite into the bread
of this hamlet’s friendship
torn by hand,
                                                                 passed in       a circle
                                                              of almost            strangers
                                                        who speak in            half-truths
                                                               and whole       warmth.

i want to trust them
these strangers
with tumbleweed limbs
and names that flutter
like dandelion seeds
before they land in my mouth

to cradle
a version of me
still wobbly in its wonder,
still warm from the kiln.

let their unfamiliarity
launder me in moonmilk,
make me new.

let their words,
like feathered teacups and sugarless riddles,
soften the hermitess in me,
till she slips quietly
into the folds of morning.

and for once,
let me not ache
for what’s left behind,
but for what’s
just
about
to begin.