Swartley fosters by the same
granted coloration impossible mission
to shuck off and figuratively wash hands with
unlike a more clear cut matter as a quitclaim
evinced courtesy abracadabra
and "poof" the quandary resolved

When the night folds in, love becomes light—

‎a lantern burning in places where sight fails.

‎It whispers that blindness is not emptiness,

‎but a faith stitched into the unseen.

‎

‎Each breath feels braided with another’s,

‎woven tight through ache and radiance,

‎through the storm and the stillness—

‎a fabric both fragile and unbreakable.

‎

‎Love charts no straight line.

‎It is a map inked with destinations and detours,

‎with roads that vanish, only to return again,

‎like rivers remembering their course.

I wish this day had lasted much longer but  a new dawn is in sight

A wall of leaves, the sea of trees -
   A verdant blanket on the hills
That stretches out endlessly -
   Uninterrupted for miles.

My body wearies from travel;
   I'm of a strange territory.
I know something of you all
   But you don't recognize me.

Now I'm arrived for what I seek
   And could not expect afar.
Won't you be as kith - oh, trees -
   And provide me some shelter?

 Gazing with his mouth wide open towards a sullen evening sky dotted with jet black clouds