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Pulse
October 25, 2009
He cried
She cried
We cried
And then the split in her palm
A crevice erupting
From the center of her gravity
Spreading from finger web
To train of thought
Weighing her down
Each delicate vein
Pulsing with its own pressure
The cracks looking like roots
Erupting from the soul
Of one tree to the next
Twirling past her tear-drenched face
A melody that briefly stings the ear
Spreading from finger web
To train of thought.
© Garrett M., Port Angeles, WA
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