Out of the swirling muck
A lithe spring
stem unbows.
I ask, which way
to the light?
In reply pale
petals open,
Reveal a glistening center, 'hope'.
That golden heart reaches
skyward as
I turn maggots,
rocks, manure with every
Sodden step, but
her message
Catches me in a fragrant
trace
Of breezy whisper,
'hope'.
My road splits
decisively now,
Leaves no middle
ground, no ease.
I seek firmer
tread, climb uphill path
Toward fading rays
in tractor beams that
Draw me to last
gasp, or understanding.
Steep lies the way.
Near the crest
I stumble and reach
for balance,
Hand falls on
outstretched hand, my
Flower's Sculptor here for
ballast, strength.
We leave the
valley behind, together.
The summit allows
vistas of grace
As twilight bends
the knee to
Shady cool of
moonlight blessing.
Mind and body
slow, becalmed, as
Spirit breath transfers peace, communion.
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