Life flows free in that place
where droplets glisten, where

mean-spirited clouds
released their rains.

Dampened pigmentation
will finger a part I cannot touch,

soaking deep to the very root, tenderly,
anointing a once-slavish soul.

After the surrender, life:
a gathering of broken pieces.

Stillness?  Is that the home
from which I dare not wander?

Today—light, and the spattering
of a wet fern:

in that place I will bask,
though not yet fully yielded,

radiant, in the spring of
life’s possibility.

first published in Domicile, later in my chapbook Gathering the Broken Pieces available from FootHills Publishing