by Toby Gui, 15
and listen close;
to the machinery’s buzz (the machinations of Man and it’s coming of— to play God is a task suited only for those made in his image and we
have long relinquished such right as our own) and the distant calls of a songbird and a world’s gentle hum
ivy furrows itself into the cracks of a wall,
buttercups blossom from the shadows of cemented tiles with initials sloppily scratched into the pavement’s surface & everything sings and suddenly it comes to you
rooted deep into our instinctual palette is a careful,
quiet sort of notion of coexistence with everything we have ever been,
everything we have ever seen. sinking cities
with communion baked into its boroughs &
brick veiled in walls of morning glories unfurling its limbs;
survival and love is one in the same and it is all we have ever known & mortality is a treasure and curse in one vein &
you are the universe tasting itself, entangled within a teetering thread of what it is to live
you want to be dandelion fields, alliums that prick grassy plains,
patches of baby’s breath and forget-me-nots and onslaughts of
orchids. sunrises and rose hips that color trees brown and bare,
wisteria and all its roots encompass;
the World and you one in the same. for all that is Holy, Lord, please let me stay forever golden
Manalapan, New Jersey
Bridge Ink 