the quiet and slowness of life carries truth in it's chest.
rivers to the ocean.
a stone in your stream.
my rough edges being smoothed as i am washed in this current.
cast directly on a tempest of wanting and frustrated hopes.
of the banal and ribald.
called back to that quiet current in the belly of the river.
to a raft built with the sturdy material of trust.
a sugar cube in the horse's mouth, becoming that satisfaction.
carry conviction at all times and be soft enough to allow for others' wanderings.
slowness is a gift.
perhaps there is enough room under that tree for us both to shade from the heat of this sun.
i don’t know much and it’s not enough to stop there.
structures of home 