Citrine

Saturdays are for whispering
Anxious wishes into stones,
Gripping cold surfaces and repetitive mantras.
I breath in, watch the lake shiver as the
Train moves from city to city, cradling
Passengers who can’t stop talking. Space
Becomes a luxury in the same vein as proximity.
We are all just moving dots on blue maps indexed
By Google anyway. The rain falls or
Does not fall, but it is not the force behind
Time, it does not cleanse these
Stones of worry and I sit, shivering
In a cloud of trust.

Author: Erica V.

Always seriously joking and rambunctiously soft-spoken.

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