Like the weight of frost
On a thin branch,
Or,
Simmering water in
A Kettle on hot fire –
A breaking point shall
Break my torso in half,
Spilling blood splattering
All over on ground.
Don’t cover these red dots
With dirt to sooth me and
My old story of “whatever”
Journey of;
But, plant a seed of patience
On each dot, add water of
Wisdom that elongates in time,
Bless shadow of
Stranger’s smile nourishing
The fragile but lovely thorns.
Come back next season,
Ask sun to step aside
When dots have grown
Onto an army, no longer
Satisfied by the ordinary
Space of this garden.
This “breeze,” may
Dance, sing, or recklessly
Drink the wine of joy,
When fire of heart is hot
In pursuit of life.
