The Workshop
The white room hummed like a breath held.
Pale-Blue veneer peeling
To reveal veins of forgotten skies.
Crimson caught mid-scream,
Vibrant gold glowing like a summer passion,
All split by angles sharp as bone prayers.
Doubt hooked my ribs, “What if?”
“What if?” until her voice became a shove.
Then bark unfurled its braille story,
Moss mapping time’s ache.
Branches cradling chlorophyll whispers.
Confusion dissolved like honey in tea.
Here was no memory’s ghost,
Just damp earth exhaling, “Enough,”
Through tendrils hung heavy as lullabies.
Peace seeped up soles into marrow.
Green dissolving winter’s ledger,
A quiet so thick, even light slowed to sip it.
Now this world feels foreign as scar tissue.
Sun gnaws pavement where roots once hummed.
I clutch at a truth soft as warm honey,
Under her cerulean eyes;
Endings taste always of salt, and
Stolen honeycomb…
