She lives within, the muse
you invoke, within trappings of bone
and briar, within tangles of yarn and
heartstring like a cat’s cradle; she weaves
the tapestry of your core in the abyss where
dreams are born, and she reaches not
out but in and into the depths
of your being, drawing handfuls
of the wonder that is yours by right
and by faith and by
each breath, as though to say: here
is light, here is colour and truth
and freedom, here – let me offer
you your own waiting, glorious self.

Note: Written for a close friend’s graduation,
this might be the shiniest thing I’ve written for a while!butterflies silhouette

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