This year I’m trying to learn from the moonflowers.
Be the brightest thing for miles. Make them all wonder

how you learned to glow when you’ve never even seen
the light. I keep a growing list of pretty words under my
tongue. Repeat them first thing in the morning and then
let my heart lead the way from there. Say orchard when
I mean forgiveness. Velvet when I’m talking about love.
Orange blossoms for loss. The silver lining about spending
a whole year this close to the ground was learning that the
roses tell the best stories. All dripping crimson, sacrifice
and patron saint of blood-soaked sunrises. I am trying to
substitute sadness with tree sap, coat my wounds in honey
instead of salt. Say: I am soft and filled with light, even
when you try to shroud me with dark.