the soul thought firmly set
until love ransacked it blind
lungs, tendons, heart and all
the spirit ethered off
left but bled-out tissues
their fate the colour of mud
adamant to carve through
a paring knife, twist-gnawing
right where soul meets bone
Here I was, am, shall be, tending the tree I planted, by the well I built, with water from my hands. The clay under my fingernails that wo...