V. H. King's Ink

i am best flooded in winter

and fall; short days and long

nights, reaching

those parts of myself i was certain

summer had burned out forever;

instead i am pruned, and when the cold

months come, i find my well:

>

words bubble up from bedrock, deeper

than I believed my roots could wind through.

when the spring comes, i will stretch

taller; my flower blossoms sore with

split lips and blood spent borrowing

>

hard-wrought shreds of hope, floating,

a feather to land on hearts unknown;

i feel every beat of perseverance,

weary joints glossed thick, the endurance

of neglected selves mingling with whatever

>

present indulgence summons kindness,

calls for comfort, to all in need,

thirsting compassion