Your Hold on My Heart

Yesterday the sky wept, and
the branches of the trees
bled a bit of red. The earth
knows something that
I do not.

I want to read the earth.
I ache to converse with trees,
to listen to the stars, and
to feel the heartbeat of the soil,
but I am a soul too easily
sated with white noise,
with white… but at night
when my pen befriends me
and my guard goes down I
begin to hear, to see, to be differently,
Your hand on my shoulder, Your hold on my heart.

2 thoughts on “Your Hold on My Heart

  1. shoreacres says:

    About that white noise: I just spent an entire week so far out of the loop I didn’t hear a word about politics or the pandemic. It was extraordinary. What was best was being in a spot where I could ponder such questions as, “What is the sound of one leaf falling?” One leaf can say a lot.

    • agjorgenson says:

      I am jealous, but also grateful for your experience. These days, when I go for a run, I try to look up every now and then and notice the shape of the branches against the sky. There is a bit of stained-glass effect. This too is a gift.

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