(re)drawing lines

for too long lost

in the middle of the road.
 

but then bones revived from idleness.
 

so easy

to recall the way roses used to smell,

the way you would open the door to all your little hells

and, squinting to see through the shadows,

enter.

the way it mostly all happened without a plan,
 

but sometimes

you create the arrows that point the way.
 

push the corners.
 

fight to try to get it right.
 

close your eyes and study your reflection.
lay your pieces on the floor

and with tender hands start.

we'll never be so old and so young.

so potentially perfect.
 

the dirt always cracks and opens

for the flowers in spring.

there is always room.

always a chance.
 

you hold on,

shape the day with your frozen hands.

paint your ever changing expressions to the world

on the canvas of your body.
 

blood rises to the surface of your bitten lip

and the light in the sky grows.
 

my stars,

how our wings will quiver.