Hold this hand one more time
And let me speak to your pulse about us.
Forget-me-nots have bloomed inside the house now,
And the air is not what they are used to.
Let this thumb caress that knuckle to that wrist
In the perfect silence when meaning was lost.
I cross the boughs; the polyphony has halved
And the grass to my right stands woefully,
Alert with the naivety of one who is only beginning to hope.
Tie the locket you found tacky with string,
Mending two hearts that lent the third their beat.
We want our phones to be ordered to buzz.
The dichotomy of inaction is not lost on me,
But this show of strength has detained us,
And exhausted life from what gave it.
The photograph is titled “the quiet rage” and is taken from Arnaav Bhavanani’s album: MATTABESECK FLOWS