crushed by rusted weight
stalled by my own brokenness—
still this urge to praise
*
despite cosmic odds
that tend toward vacuum and void,
this pale flower, these buds
*
even in cold darkness
hear the growing rush of snowmelt—
somewhere it is warm
crushed by rusted weight
stalled by my own brokenness—
still this urge to praise
*
despite cosmic odds
that tend toward vacuum and void,
this pale flower, these buds
*
even in cold darkness
hear the growing rush of snowmelt—
somewhere it is warm