Fissures of a Rough and Calloused Soul

She silently noted the space had grown wide, the way the puzzle widened, the air hanging thick in the lapses. A canyon, a sea, a mountain range, a tidal wave. A pivot, a seam torn, a lost heart, shreds, heads—hung low. She grew suddenly aware of the gap. The seemingly unfixable. The gap to be on the fault of her own. Flowers died—and cried. Time warped. Skies once blue now painted black from deep inside itself.

A clearing must be reached, a break in the thicket of the trees. A peace. A piece. Something needed to break ways, waves to come crashing down.

And like a transcendent rain, floods of flowers filled the gap. A merging became visible to the rough and calloused hearts. A union of tears and toils was reached and with one moment came the new. Suddenly refreshed, suddenly clear, the trees fell—crashed, bridging the gap that puzzle pieces so complex.

A fix, the tricks now gone. A patient soul whose heart grew strong. Thread woven to sew the hole, fiber on fiber, strung tight. She silently noted the gap between them. A rough and calloused desert, tree lined paths, a calming sea, level ground—a damaged and repaired land walked upon with bare feet. She silently noted the transgression. The dead flowers watered and now born to rise again, she silently noted.

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