To:

Every night I pray for the ocean;

the animals. I try to enjoy the sunlight

 

but everything is just

different levels of fear. Tell me:

 

is it as bad as we thought it would be?

What could bloom, here? A recurring dream -

 

in the crushing law of the sun, we lose all our soft.

We blister under the weight of our own foolish history.

 

From:

Oh, my love, you feel so old. We know.

We keep and remember the fear. We forgive you for it.

 

We have seen and still see such terrible times.

What feels like the end of everything. But please

 

remember what the deserts used to be, and what they changed into,

now bursting with night flowers and strangeness.

 

What could bloom, still?

Anything. Love. Always.