My back
is strong
like a piece of bark
it has its edges
but it is stable,
it stands tall–
it is stillness
and silence
and me.
These elements
of control
have never been
my friend.
Illusive fears
of loosing
a self
that I had forged
by lack of force
the word loss–
I could write odes
to loss
and sonnets
to loss
and haikus
to loss
and I would still
remained
lost
in the same sentiment
Who am I?
Where do these attachments
leave me?
Where did I acquire them?
Did death bring up something
deep inside of me
that always needed healing?
An unknowingness of stability,
the entrance of doubt?
I am here, writing,
wondering,
thinking back to trees with hearts
written in their sides.
October 8, 2016
