Nestled

in the valley, her collarbone,

held fast against her strumming heart—

whether it be midnight folk music

or a morning bird’s song,

it remains a constant harmony

among the chaos of it all.

 

Big warm mountain,

hold me still.

Take a moment to breathe

and tell me about the cricket’s cry,

the worms and how they writhe.

Remind me, love,

of what it means to be small.