budded

i am sorry

if i hurt anyone

i said to the earth

and it replied

don’t cry so much

even though

your leaking you

gives new flowers old hope

and hands that one day

might hold their stems

with a wish for someone

quite and queit like you

who feels so much

for so little

like the flowers that are wilting

faster than you are

for which you are sorry for too

breathing onto them

cooing the past

giving life through your waste

wasting through your life

on things already going

and shadowing

closing as the hands empty

onto other hands

while yours

only find your face

muddied from laying down

and looking for water to be clean

but finding yourself dried

among those lost and losing