Adyta

 

I was the seed within the apple.
From Pandora, the broken seal.
I am the hollowness of the amphora
longing for the boldness of the wine.
I am the voice that holds, in silence,
the fullness of all mornings.

I am no longer sufficient or necessary.
I was scattered in every corner,
I am everywhere,
perhaps in fragments,
but ripe now,
better.

Made of jagged, rounded pieces,
like a stone that's tumbled a river’s length,
like a mountain ground to sand.
I know the heavens also dwell beneath my feet.

I am the tattered, translucent cloth
tied to the barbed wire of days,
thrashing against the wind,
an invisible, unbound fury.