Did they get enough from meWith the deftness of a surgeon?Were my borders clean and neatOr does my destiny includeA shorter life of restless false religion?I once built walls and set my boundariesBut with a deadly diagnosisIt’s difficult to know where I start and endWas my deciding even takenInto considerationWhen my rough edges showedEverything the
Abandoned, along withWhat no longerFinds use, I fill my arkWhile the flood, angryAnd possessed,Picks up the dropped broomsAnd sweeps us all away.If I could take all my thingsI could fill up the seasWith picturesWith memories. These barrenThings cannot reproduce.They’re useless to you,So die with me.There’s another vesselMore expansive than mineOne stolen from the earthItself –
Sometimes we become broken,Cracked wide open andRise above the livingLike storm clouds.Calling to us with distant thunder,Electrifying our bodiesWith bolts of lighteningAlighting the skiesWith nature’s sobbingHer way of bereavingHeavy with the water of grief.When her wind picks us up that’s The time I rise to attend to my garden,Through eyes unable to discernWhats weed for
