Time Moves Slow

The river writes our names in silver light,

A fleeting script that fades by morning light.

You weave me crowns from dandelion thread,

While sunset paints your skin in copper red.

The fireflies mistake us for their own,

Dancing patterns only we have known.

Every cricket\'s chirp, each rustling pine,

Whispering the rhythm of your heartbeat next to mine.

Here where the earth still remembers,

Where time moves slow as embers—

I\'ll trace the constellations in your palm,

And love you wild, and love you calm.

We found our map in birchbark\'s peeling skin,

North Star caught in the tangle of your grin.

The loons sing late, their melancholy tune,

While we invent new names for the waxing moon.

Dawn will come with mist and might,

Turn our breath to ghosts in flight.

But hold me close till daylight breaks—

Even the oaks forget what time it makes.

Here where the earth still sings,

Where fireflies weave us rings—

I\'ll trace the constellations in your palm,

And love you wild, and love you calm.

The meadow keeps our secrets where the clover grows,

Pressed between the pages where the wild rose knows.