I held your hand
in a taxi, once,
while thinking of another
as you whispered into my ear,
a sound I no longer remember,
a scent now a breath away from touchable.

I cannot hold everything anymore,
not everything nor everyone.

I recall the yellow light
yearning to hold its own innocence
stretching through the window
burning hands still holding onto a truth
that had turned away from white,
I remember the highway
that hurried us out of the city
as I wondered if I’d packed enough hope
for us both.

But I cannot hold everything, anymore,
no more. The elastic cannot be recalled,
the weight was too wearisome
for just one heart.
I hope now to hold clarity, to hold happy,
happy to be free. Happy me,
now lighter, brighter

reaching out for that plant pot
with its purple petal planted, long ago,
in a garden I am returning to.

A garden where I will sit
and watch the dance of the dandelions
till the yellow sun has descended,
where I will empty all the jam jars
of their collected lies
and draw the sound of the moon, at last.


All words and photography by Damien B. Donnelly

Penultimate poem for National Poetry Writing Month



  1. Wow…. Love the last lines

    “where I will empty all the jam jars
    of their collected lies
    and draw the sound of the moon, at last.”

    Just beautiful, Damien.

    • Thank you Dorinda. This morning I walked for two hours along the banks of the seine, beneath the sunshine and the still standing towers of Notre Dame. Suns rise and fall, buildings fall but beauty can still remain. I think this morning helped to add some of the beauty. Huge hugs to you my friend 😘🤗

    • Thank you so much Nathan. It was taken in Tunis a few years ago on a fleeting visit for work but it was worth it just to catch that light on the beach.

  2. I hope you can draw the sound of the moon (we know she hums) 🙂 and hold it tight.
    This is lovely, and your conversation with Jane above made me smile–both of you. It would be so much fun to have a cup of tea with both of you.

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