Hung Behind The House

Gently swaying, ropes on the

tree,

the breeze touches my skin

in a way no human touch can.

A gentle massage of motion

against flesh,

seeping in,

filling lungs,

feeding blood.

Tree limbs envelop the space,

wooden arms

risen from earth

owned by none,

surrounding me completely.

The dark rich soil,

tiny greens just beginning

to open their eyes,

in this cove:

peace, sovereignty, grace,

a sanctuary built from love.

Pure,

in the back of the home

we built.

Music plays in earbuds,

a piano beside me in the air,

stroking the nerves,

lulling them into sweet

surrender.

My eyes become heavy in the

beauty,

no longer seeing,

only feeling,

as they close on their own.

Breath stilled to almost

invisible,

transcending into a realm

past what I can name.

The sway, body, breath,

arriving not separately

but together.

Nothing distinguishes

between them.

The breeze on my skin.

The breath pouring into

pores.

The piano nerves

surrendering.

The eyes closing in beauty.

Bound.

Blissful.

Still.

—FromTenderGround🧡