My heart feels ravaged
(that’s not true)
like the land after a wildfire.
(It beats, red-hot.)
It feels desolate, scorched.
(That’s more true.)
How I wish I could track this pain.
I’m tired of trying to understand
(but compassion bleeds
from my mouth with
every turn of my head).
Maybe my heart doesn’t feel like a wildfire,
(correct)
but more like a wildflower,
one that has survived the frost
and intends to keep living, defying
mother nature’s intentions.
So It Goes 