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Psyche
May 29, 2008
My fingers scatter and strew
The lovely smooth pods back and forth
As my eyes blur and burn
With tears, tired from the shedding
And I pray to every god I can
That help and home and Love, my love
Will find me and deliver me
From this barren task of separating
Seeds from seeds, brown from brown,
Even as they slip through my fingers, the floorboards
And root themselves in the earth.
My cursed weak hands
Seem to shatter and break
As my pulse pounds in my ears
And the mind is driven to pieces
By the tick, tick, click
of scattered seeds.
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