by Tim Sweeney
We are in God’s country
she says,
high where leaves spin
in the air like stars, or wishes
of young men
hiding between
the branches of a dream named
love or fate,
where liars
never dare to sleep awake,
and stomping old puddles
you can find
the perfect picture
splash
as you smile back
into the small oceans,
away from the darting light
and mouth wide open
laughing,
laughing leaves
of breathless freedom
into the wild
autumn
wind
I’m Tim Sweeney. Major: Forest Management.
I’m much better at not writing than writing, self deprecating than touting. However, I will say I absolutely excel at not sleeping when I should (while somehow accomplishing nothing!). My favorite days are the chilly grey Autumn ones when a warm drink feels just right.