The soul doesn’t rise like bread leavening in the warm
it hurts in the dark and grows up through the pavement
It’s the cup that spilled on a crowded table
lift the plate to soak up what has fallen under. I shouldn’t have left the mail so close to
that cup of water
It’s shattered on the ground
A splinter of yours got in the heel of my foot and I haven’t taken a step where I haven’t
felt it.
Savanna 