Ground or Glass (April, 2015)

Broken is the word I guess. But I can't decide whether I'm broken like ground or like glass. Nothing can grow in broken glass. If I must break, I want to break like the ground. Like a river into the edge of a sea...like a fallen tree giving up her insides to strengthen new saplings.. Like the cycle of an unfiltered breath.. Like a high meadow opening after a cold mourning. Fingertips buried and busy in the ground. If it's up to me.

Today, the right turn of words could split me in two. Lord, have mercy. 

----

You fell like a tree
Took in the wild seeds 
And let them feed
Drink your stores of rain 
As you lay gazing up 
At a blurring place 

You were a seed before
Timid and born
Brushing off the dirt 
That surrounds you now 
To reach what glows
Sprung from a grandmother oak 
You'd not the thought 
To stoop down and thank

But she was gone I suppose
Gone as you are now
Like a river's surrender 
To the edge of the sea
She'd nowhere to be 
But beneath

Sometimes you are the river
Sometimes you are the sea
Today I hover here between 
A death and a tiny seed

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