May I unfold the next morning
& cast the right spell out of this mud
& bathe in tree-filtered light
& find my lonely tribe there
& meet the sun after the fire
& be impervious to divisive glare
& harness pink cloud after loss
& colour this reality out of its lines
& spill over and stem from my heart
& flit about in wild, eccentric shades
Jessica Lee McMillan © 2020
