More
There’s more
Between the periods
And question marks
Commas and scars
Burgeoning joy
And the silence
The pain,
Sun peeking from the storm
After lightening punishes earth
And rain washes the sky
In between the crash
Of thunder falling on soft ears.
And there is the skin
Moist with summer dew;
The rush of cricket breath
Falling on living grass.
There’s more between birth,
The stumble of first steps
Skinned knees
Pained tears.
More between closed blinds
And morning sunrise
Heralding second chances
And end of dreams.
More in the blossom
And first succulent fruit;
The sweetness
Washing over the tongue.
There’s more in the kiss
Of lovers closely twined
In the eyes,
Special lights, pinpoints
Of Heaven
Warmth radiating outward
Pools of desire
And promise.
More to the garden
Than the solitary rose
Or protective thorns;
The pinprick bleed
Hiding invisible hurt.
Love doesn’t have to die
Even when it hurts
Or in the afterburn,
There’s more,
Even when the mourners
Circle fresh dug graves
Fragrant flowers strewn
In haphazard ways.
There’s more
Much
Much
More
Between the periods
and question marks
In days.

Janelle Gregory