i cannot breathe, for the garden in my lungs.

and my heart,
this bleeding heart?

i remember, long ago
it grew over the
door that led down
to the root cellar.

i remember the tornado, and
hiding in the cold, wet.
the smell of stone and rain
drenched dirt.

and the kittens?

"oh, little one,

they have drowned", beneath
the fragile, broken hearted
blooms, laid open and
to rest,
 by the hand of the wicked wind.

and usually, in the wind
I find my friends.

the feathered ones and the spinning
ones, the silent floating seeds that
 will find a new world or
create a new world.

sometimes, the very thing
that makes us,
breaks us.

and perhaps we are born again,
or perhaps we sleep in the heavy
peace of those that do not remember.

or maybe, we are holy, and what we
were returns into the soul of the universe.

so we continue, but we do not know
ourselves, or recognize even a shard.

           i remember a girl,
           and she was mostly forgotten.
           even in her own time.

           a gone girl.

           one day, another girl who was
           always remembered, said, 
           "your hair looks nice today"

           and the forgotten one, felt
           the sun shine on her face.

           and every day, after that one day,
           she wore hair in the same way.

           and she prayed that some one would notice
           her and say,
           "you are nice today"

i wince when i think of her,
i hope she found her sun.
i hope she remembered that
she is her own shine.

today the daffodils bloomed, one at a time.
right before winter returned.

together we will be yellow in this
white storm.  it is still many days
before the black storms.
these will be my darkest days.
the days of the great cleansing.

time to let it go.

time to step into the drift,
on the other side,

a bleeding heart,
laid open,
soft and fragrant,
against a sky full
of bruises and light.