A River Dammed

somewhere

in the pause between inhale and scream

my lungs collapse

too full of flurries from my mind

like a moth's wings

pinned softly to the page of a dream

fluttering—but not enough to lift

only enough for a sense of dejà vu

soil remembers every seed

plunged into damp darkness

left to wonder if the sun's shyness

will lead to a never ending night

while expanding roots

circle around themselves aimlessly

too familiar with the edge of the pot

I wear yesterday like a silk cocoon—

delicate, sticky,

stitched with the threads of almost.

I was going to. I meant to. I will.

the stars hum songs I used to know

their language burning my tongue

yet still I mouth their names at night

hoping the shape will unlock the sky

even hope can feel heavy some mornings

like wading through honey

dripping with sickly sweet tension

deep in my stillness

the river inside me is plotting

quiet, patient, holy

it can't be stopped

and neither can I