Reaching you is like nectar,
inky shade quenches my tired skin.
Eyes adjust beneath your shelter.
Am I outside looking to
pink sun-drenched horizons?
Or maybe inside breathing roots –
finding power from your darkness
strength from your fruit.
Knowing as I lean, you’ll take the strain,
whispering prayers to the sky.
As I emerge, you remain
a silhouette, a sigh.
Your shelter always waiting
the scent of shade like liquorice,
or homemade lemonade.