lotus rising in my hands,
heat that heals the broken man.
clocks with crooked arms that span,
lands that hold the emerald pain.

inside her ribcage,
beneath her hide,
snow melts,
rivers grow,
rushing and raging,
into everything we know.

washing a furrowed countenance,
into crumbled crystal and sea glass sand,
where castles rise and fall,
waxing and waning,
endless dying,
endless rebirth,
rising and falling,
again and again.

~Lana Maree Haas