Pocket of Color

A lavender field lays open, an uninterrupted meditation for the bees,

their small ink and yellow bodies flitting gracefully between blooms.

My daughters, both glistening neon, wade through until they too are fragrant,

each unknowingly pulling along the white-hot sun behind them.

Peach palms extend skywards as they wave to me from afar, cheeks yielding to full fledged smiles, a speck of light

against the lush emerald and purple.

Folded small, I am deep-night denim knees pulled to my chest.

Tired in the heels of my shoes and in the ache of my shoulders.

Steadfast in my own kind of romance with the world,

I hold joy loosely. We have together a lazy understanding of intimacy,

and I watch the light spilling through, fracturing across the field, across little upturned faces, across a vast distance I may never travel; a kaleidoscope

of each pocket of color that unravels before and within me.