Horizontal
Connie Song

There are days horizontal feels more comfortable than vertical, 
my eyes feasting on the sky.
Even when I’m lost or lonely,
miles below the tangled clouds.
You might think the emptiness is a void I can fill with words
that build slowly into a story.
That my days are poetic, picking wildflowers in muddy fields, 
that my thoughts are like thorns, slowly pricking my brain. 

That my soul runs deep and serene like the brushed river’s edge
or the calm of the blue lake.
But my words linger like echoes
and the distant clouds follow me like inseparable shadows.
Strange how every shadow leads me back to you.