my blackbird song has begun.

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 I wake upon the gentle, chiming notes of my blackbird of love. the perfection of notes pulsating across the darkness of veils around this heart.

you’re here, love. I’ve missed you. you’ve been gone all summer once the source of all blessings was deemed forgotten. now that it’s vacantly lifeless and dim, you’re here once more.  a frequency of light midst the tragic blues. a highlight so pure amid the pages of time.


I’m so silent now, my dearest blackbird. so silent. not one word can truly chisel the whereabouts of inscrutable meaning that reverberates around meaning itself. so, in the darkness of this season, I silently wait to learn a song akin to yours. a song of softened grace. a gift of non-doing.


the patience of lovers— a river of golden light that never runs dry. it knows the chimerical beauty of the right time. it is an occupation till it dissolves in perfection and encounters, alas, the golden ground.


my blackbird, I owe you, in time, a song of a heart dissolving into eternal soulfulness. 

going with grace in an inscrutable world.

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