I'll build an altar

of Popsicle colored sunsets,
pink of  
I wish it were different,
purple of
you don’t deserve this,

line it with just fallen leaves
pine needles,
the thin pages of well-used books. 

Hold my hand. 

Yes, the sky is a dark-clouded fist
above us and 

yes, 

nothing makes sense,
but you are 
sheltered, the way the forest does.