here is a debt paid.

how long will growth feel

like burning? I’m sick of

planting seeds.

(But I do like burying things.)

The Earth I’m rooting into feels barren. You say thats not what counts.

The Lenten Rose grows regardless.

I say, so do weeds.

Amends curl like pencil shavings. I’m all jacked up on coffee apologies. I’ve vomited letters

in lead.

You say, commit to the journey.

I say, I don’t know where it ends.