My heart is the careful shape of a hakea seed—split by flames and floodplains and wildflowers—that bends tall to catch the colours dreamed above, but drops to a salving shade for all attending bright below.

You don't feel how far you have come until you look out into the pooling rain and stars to find peace and not a place to run from; your silence falling gentle, and your tenderness grown vast.

My heart is here reclaimed from clay and sculpted to hold the stars.

Because something is commonised does not mean it is not exceptional beyond commonplace.

Some days are seperate birds apart, those strung between unsteady skies, to leave so soon as each of us, as all entire light.

Your insignificance should hold you in comfort, a gossamer thread not yet woven to the wildflowers ahead.

I was not impenetrable, merely inexhaustible. Failure became the clarity of water to wash away spent days, and pain the means to move my heart closer to magnificence.

We are changed forever. But the moments remain, in moth dust fallen from us, in firefly-light and flickering stars, in the monuments of our breathing, in smallnesses that become our mended bones.

All of my fears will rarefy to fuel. All of my fears will lead me forward. All of my fears will ignite old beauty, and arcane refuge, the wonder of all things found in the waiting light.