Fragments on The Hem

The wet and reluctant spring,
Moments of sunshine wrapped up in sharp winds
Ground is soft, plump, engorged with water
God’s gift
Makes it loose, and my hands dig in
And up

There are close spaces
Closed spaces,
Back behind me now
An old man from memory stands shaking over a broken plate
These made things,
that tend to topple over and shatter
And cause him such a rage

I had left him back there, in the dark rooms,
The dirty greens

With no malice, yet no regret
Thought as the wind slipped in through the cracked door,
What soul does not pace and howl
To find itself contracted so
When the sky itself bleeds water and is a vast, vast
Space

A long time ago, I was folded in, tucked in
Those dark walls with him,
And her
All the others
A collection of so many strange objects, no longer serving a purpose

But the soil is loose,
And the spring winds happy
A laugh or hope to think
We might float above these grubby things
Smile and expand

And always, somehow, I am that
I am this