spring’s breath,
on my old wounds, flowers bud
branches lean
seeded clouds my roots shower
but the desiccate feeling lingers
thrusting me further into the ground
selfish love green green again
la mauvaise vie a ses charmes
under this new skin
the sap crystallizes
leaves fall
at the mercy of a season,
a soil, and
a sky too singular.
Woowee! The dualistic interplay of liberation and captivity is spot on.