Death Among the Wildflowers

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because you see, this is how it

goes: the cup-yellow of sun against your

face and the slow slow slow

breaking of the day, like falling,

but not quite.

 

you have to know that

nothing here ever bleeds, that

breathing here is a tightrope, taut

and tight and too firm to shatter

this silence. feel the wind against your

cheeks: know that this is alpine breath,

aeons-old. you are surrounded by the

atoms of dinosaurs. the bones of stars. because

you see, darling, you are

 

small here.

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