Garden of Ragged Hearts

Gar­den of Ragged Hearts

I want to tend only the Gar­den of Ten­der Souls
the Gar­den of Ragged Hearts
the blown-down, sod­den, soaked to the skin,
glossy, heav­ing under the weight of their limbs
glis­ten­ing, in the unseen moment
not even wait­ing
for love to find them
which it will inevitably
surg­ing from the flood­ed earth
through the roots
a well spring:
per­co­lat­ing
bub­bling
ris­ing
awash as we are,
cleansed and pure,
lov­ing as we were meant to.

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