If you give me a softer edge
I will believe in your touch
For in the grasp
Of a summer day
I remember all these dreams
And I can hear the buzz
Of the honey bee
Singing in my ear.
But if the edge continues to hone
I’ll find my sharpness cutting knots
Deep within my root stricken back
Holding me to gnarly strength.
I am the fire
Should I be struck
For I awake within my heart,
I am the dirt
That crumbles with
A slipping fist no longer clenched
No longer fighting back.