Run with flowers

Poem #105

Your heart touches your shoulders  
and beats like a cry across a thousand miles.  
Banished from the color, only
a black sun burns out your eyes.
With a bitter mouth you drink the tears  
the earth’s voice blew toward you.  
The grass cuts into your feet  
as if the lawn itself were blades.
And this is meant to be destiny —  
the place where you were meant to stand.