The Quiet Work of Marvel

The Quiet Work of Marvel

I have a tendency a backyard of quiet miracles—
flowers folding into themselves like secrets and techniques,
petals trembling with the load of daylight.

Alongside the shore, I stroll barefoot,
letting waves erase footprints,
whereas my digicam gathers moments
too mushy to carry, too sharp to neglect.

In my fingers, a e book opens like a window—
phrases spilling like wild bees,
every poem a quiet prayer
to the life blooming simply past sight.

I write within the margins of mornings,
scribbling love letters to the odd,
crafting verses that sing beneath breath,
a tapestry woven from small wonders.

And round me, those I cherish—
their laughter like shells scattered on sand,
their tales the roots that hold me grounded,
their presence the solar that helps me develop.

That is my sacred work:
to carry, to note, to nurture,
to be the keeper of moments
the place magnificence and love quietly collide.

– Vendredi