road to cleveland
Eyes of new leaves trembling in spring,
wide and watchful,
as if the world might startle at any moment
and he’d be ready to kiss it anyway.
He moves like something ancient remembering itself.
clean lines and quiet confidence,
ethereal beings stepped down from stone,
marble traded for warm skin,
myth loosening its grip to let him breathe.
A deer at the edge of the forest,
still as prayer,
listening for what isn’t there yet.
Grace held in restraint.
Power that chooses not to run.
he looks down to you and the world is hushed—
when the woods fall silent,
when even the gods pause,
afraid to be seen.