You are still
the invigorating icy splash
into December’s midnight air
through this stubborn… sliding… glass
You still carry me
into Your ineffable expanse
of stars burning white
against infinite black space
Your still hands
cut the silhouettes of these ancient oak-drenched hills
and contrast them aglow
against the phosphorescent blue of Your midnight sky
You are the muse of the Miwoks, the Modocs,
and Modernity–
Unchanging, and still
Commensurate to our capacity
for wonder*
And I am somehow still
your little girl,
who’s cried to You
through screens and panes
for all the
screams and pains
of those who need
Your Stillness.
I am still
somehow Your little girl–
all grown.
without substance without You,
Suffocated still at times by “shoulds”
successful yet still broken
in beautiful ways
so. small.
always
needing
You.
Always
wanted
by
You.
❤
Things and Stuff. 