The poem that centers this collection — 

The light looks different from here.
I didn’t realize the tint before
a shade of my own creation now.

I feel it in the way silence hums,
no longer buzzing through my chest
but a full-handed chord sung
in the margins carved out of Peace.

The light is brighter here, too
when she smiles,
as if from within
Golden hour filling
space that once ached.

Change is rarely without chasms.
Healing is rarely without darkness.

Yet neither is as daunting
as never seeing
the light of my own creation.

So we stop on the roadsides for wildflowers 
music and bouquets spill out of windows, 
passion flowers filling my chest
I root myself where the earth is soft,
Pleasure the only map
leading us to where we are
and where we can be. Free.

Find yourself here,
in the new light.