Derivate

The soul slips
in soft spots
in our skull,
unaware 
the bone is 
a snare 
to be sprung. 

The soil parts
for the seedling
and the deep
ocean dreams
of dragging
the land under.

Somewhere 
and somewhen 
far from here, 
someone ties 
their wishes 
to our sun.

At some point,
we see 
the stars don’t 
admire us 
nearly as much.