I think that sometimes I overwork my poetry. I think I need to let it stop there it ends, in that brief moment I get when I’m overwhelmed with its inspiration, lulling me, whispering me its heartbeat. And if I ever manage to capture its essence, I need to allow my dream catcher to snatch it and take what it is in as is.
For sometimes I know for a fact that these moments of one with life melt like a snowflake in the palm of my hand.