Bearing

we lay

across warm wooden planks

your raw-honeyed voice

a basket that bears

endless days

now we are snow angels

in a field of tall grass

now we conspire with

the owl we bear

witness to

stars

but you ride

leaving a tiny counter

piled with speckled notebooks

creamy sugar whispers call

from pages worn

*Inspired by  Kimberlee Conway Ireton's "On Inspiration"