Meet me in the yellow wood
on the corner where the oak
and elm meet, where our two
paths cross like fingers, holding
flowers in our hands, freshly
picked from those we loved before.
We’ll discover a clearing marked
in pink and pretty weeds and
bury our fists of flowers into
the soft earth beneath our feet,
then wait for rain to soften us
further, melt and meld us into
one road which leads to endless
setting suns on sea horizons,
cliff faces shielding the wind
and lighthouses calling our names.
What I mean is, hold my hand
and let’s call this safety.
Poem: © Kristiana Reed 2020