The heart is like a field.
Not such of a kind
which sings with wheat.
But the kind we left fallow;
Cracked beneath earth,
Like a silence that hums
with the rhythm of old thunder!
You walk by it daily.
But your boots are getting heavy
with the memories of yesterday,
Your eyes dragging the horizon
left behind the notion of them.
Do you remember the rain?
Which came like a lover,
Uninvited, but much needed.
Yet the sun is cruel with clarity.
showing you everything;
Like the broken fence,
hasty crow’s nest in the chimney,
and shovel rusting in my own regret.
And yet still, you dig.
surely not for treasure,
But for the ache
that wants naming!
Ye find it—
A stone, as smooth as a memory,
As warm as the heat of your own hand!
The mystic wind,
The old witness,
Move through your ribs
Like a hymn you sing!
With💙
©chrysanthemum
