Often, I find a rift—
where snow and ash entangle and blanket as if to comfort,
despite their sting.
They are to each other as the goby fish clings to its home
and a forsaken child howls to their mother.
Single-sided symbiosis.
A parasite.
—
Often, I find a rift—
a place where lie the imperfections from our perspective,
the kind that create eternal suffering,
lest we find peace within.
This peace is not passive acceptance,
but active understanding:
that each rift does not mirror another.
It mirrors oneself.