surrounds the heart
lying like a wound
at the center of things;
a deep pool in which
the leavings of life's seasons
float brightly for a while
then disappear
into hidden caverns of longing,
slowly breaking down
into fragments of memory,
providing mulch
for seasons yet to come,
loves yet to grow,
promises yet to be broken
which in their own way
also feed the soul.
No comments:
Post a Comment