peeking over topsoil
Sit still and feel fear’s hot breath. Water fertile soul with saline, nurture tender shoots of self. Let shadows emerge, take shape, begin to dance in the dark. Hang on synchronicity, wring our wounds, let metaphor drip. Trust roots will wrap and hold our guts against the gust.
In the misty post-drench dawn, proliferate like fungus in the rich dark earth.