The souls I wouldn’t try to fix,
the compliments I didn’t give,
and all the hearts who never asked
for mine to be so earnest—

When the hawk lifted above the goats
grazing on the mountain,
into the mist-filtered,
sun-kissed sky,

You draw your knee closer to you in the sand,
tilt it, push it back
as the tide rushes out.

You climb the fence a rung and a half—one for each year you’ve
been alive, and I say, The fence is not for climbing;
you might fall down on the other side. But you say you wanna go boom there,