for Maren, who makes mountains bloom
I admit it.
Her beauty was the spark—
The shaggy bangs and sun-kissed layers…
The high cheekbones drawing my eyes to hers…
The white teeth straight, the smile crooked and true…
The frame both strong and lithe.
But sparks fade.
Her grace fuels the flame—
The deliberate pace she kept among her peers…
The learned cadence of her careful words…
The enthusiasm for meaningful connection…
The communion with song and soil.
So I linger.
Warming myself in her radiance—
My bruised heart learning to thump again…
My calloused ego softening to feel once more…
My clenched teeth laughing at it all…
My psyche catching its breath, takes a new step.
