It Is

It is Bergamot and Orange

and the soft hum

of the ceiling fan

and the memory

of her hands

pressing into

the stubborn knots

in my neck and shoulders

and her reminders

telling me to breathe

and the silence

of dilapidated

dairy farms

and the peace

of hippie gardens

and cold cider

and faeries skipping

just out of view

and yellow primroses

growing wild and free

and sleep

soft, peaceful

sleep