Maybe that space is simply just to let the flowers grow.
From a bed of ashes, one bud will rise, prevailing all others that tried.
The space that once was covered and wrapped in warm blankets now is naked and exposed.
Everyone knows my pain,
No one understands it.
Everyone feels my pain,
No one comprehends it.

For a year it laid open, the draft leaking in through the curtains.
It chilled other existing happiness,
Some it penetrated, but others it just reached the surface.
And now there's promise, with the shutters tied down the wind will persist,
But the space will grow warm again.

That first bud shines through, and the seeds left behind ache to be opened by water's lusting hands.
The flowers open and invite the sun into their petals' warm embraces.
The clouds disperse and the rays tangle with the leaves of the tree saplings playfully.
The land forms into mounds and shapes,
The colors grow in variance,
And soon the growth is simply too much,
No longer can the cold wind linger,
It simply mixes and becomes just a number.
The trees grow from edge to edge of the deep divide,
So much,
And the gaps close in on each other.
-The transformation is almost complete-
---
It may take years, and perhaps the body this canyon resides in may perish and create new flowers,
But one day the gap will close
And the seal will be resealed
And the storm may be quelled.