Gift of prose

I only want to be 

light like my words

Moving with impact 

but letting go 

With each punctuation. 

Words come to me, 

like little secrets

Whispered in my ear 

from the heavens

Or my soul. 

They’re always right on time.

The moment couldn’t be more perfect.

To hear composition

twirl through synapses

And make their way onto the page.

To just be.

I don’t chase the words

They find me. 

I meditate in the moment.

And find the present

is a gift of prose.

xoxo, L

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a photo series with Infinity Creek