on a street corner waiting to be found, or spoken to

deeper into the woods

a heart will be lost


a life defying to be found

a prophet on a street corner

speaking and stealing words hauntingly familiar

bitter and biting

time, pregnant with doubt 

bearing the weight no one would rather talk about 

dreaming on fire, the kind that refines and cleans

holding on to time as it drops one grain at a time

one minute at a time

a future is forged with the tiniest of lines

unseen by blurring, bleeding eyes