When you lose your voice
To the sea salt drying in your hair
Turn your palms towards pastel haze
Exhale longing for words that won’t come
Your song found itself somewhere
Between lost and in-between
Echoes that never sound quite the same
As words tumbled from beeswax lips
Funny how the fractures
You fought with might and malice
Grow now soft as tangled roots
Beneath sea salt tracks down petal cheeks
Sit here and cradle your caution
Sing, little meadow flower
Hold the soil of courage
The trickle of star-shine in your veins
Where sleepy Sundays collect in the eaves
Celebrate silence with me in azure light.