Then there were all the ways
we never found what we were looking for.
We did not know its color or
how to recognize its sound.
The way the lights descended from the heavens
and filled us so bright until the dark
felt like home again.
The home to light is darkness,
they belong inside of one
another and become
a single swaying being
no one knows how to speak about.
And so the silence, on one specific invisible day
and not one day before,
begins gathering twigs and little bones of
things deceased,
assembling her nest inside the
blinding noise.
And this is how we burn our lives away
waiting for daybreak
hiding behind the sky.
Expansion.
Detachment.
Release.
.
.
Allison Marie Conway 