by Jesse Breite
If the fruit tells us anything,
it is that we yearn,
that the stillness is furious,
that the fury is a sacred fire,
that fire is a way of breathing,
that lungs feed the open wound,
but also that color escapes,
that the only thing we can say
is crescent to the truth–
to speak is to wrestle with sentience,
to tangle with whatever
when whatever must also
ache like golden tomorrows.
Category: Poetry, SNHU Creative Writing, SNHU online creative writing