A picket fence
Open to a green pasture.We run—
chins raised to the sun,arms wide and back.
Then, fall to our knees and breathe.
The day is rose-petal soft
and blurred.
You look to me to say a few careful words.
As I roll, skin tickled arm to arm by whisps of grass, nearly dry,
the very back of my head holds still,
nestled in a slight dip in the earth.
I look up at your silhouette, overtaken by the avalanche of light
tumbling from above.
I hear. I know.
Then close my eyes and drift away.
Rainy days are saved for careful words.
Silence is perfection.
-Jayme
