As I watch fresh lavender grow
Where hatchets are once buried—

I dream of a stream that flows
Serene into the valley collecting only
What it needs—

Since warmed by the light
There is grace to be found, here—

Grace for the trees that
Could not spare me from the wounds
Of selfish debris—

I forgive myself
I forgive the crumbling
And sting
An aloof desire to leave
To leave it all unseen—

I trek through my garden,
Remembering I harvest this lavender—
For me.

a.k.