It’s not that
I don’t care
I’ve just learned
the value of my care

This jar is different – each shard and crack tells the story of me.
I slowly piece myself together
Carefully choosing each fragment
Each break
That highlights what I have experienced and endured
Each fragile piece reminds me
That the greatest beauty is not in the unbroken
But in the mended
This is my new jar
My restored essence
In which light flows and reflects all
That I have become.

Sorrow stifles me
Like a song that doesn’t resonate in my heart.

Like a dream that remains unfulfilled,
Like the sun that does not warm me.

Loneliness smells like plums
From grandmother's garden

When the time comes to tire,
I swallow the sun
in a single gulp,
while birch sap
slowly sings within me –
a song of light,
a song of night.

Autumn morning
Old man hands picking apples
A woman hangs out laundry in the sun
I feel the wind touching the leaves
The bird flies across the field
Memories are born in a person
The story of a long road

I lost my shadow
In the city’s reflection

My past became a willow
That grew up to the moon