Who tries to grow out of this cold
Unfolding wings from nothing
Nurtured with meager protection
Nourished with watery milk
Whose fingers try to burrow
the dry clay, the impenetrable rock
Who wants to excavate what turned
to stone?

In preservation conservation hides
In self protection arms as withered
branches wrap around what turned
to stone, knowing that deep inside
one little ember glows, still glows
There one small drop of water
remains, once a pool in polished
rounded slab of stone, rubble
remaining consciousness

This is what grows, this is one
seed of hope, one tiny root, one
drop of water, one ember of
warmth, one knowing once
belonged to a field of glacier
While only cold remains in
once warm heart that blindly
searches, searches.

*

March 25, 2017
Copyright © Darren White