Lack of Dirt

We take one moment and compact
it with seeds of passion

And warm the fever to burn the dust

Somewhere in the ground is a silver cloud

And the lining is dirt and the rain is dry

But the courtyard is troubled
with trampling and yelling

And the seeds and the sprouts
cry in pain to be left alone

But the fever expands and contracts

And the seed breaks open revealing trust

Fear falls away and a piece of me dies

Digging my elbows into the soft and moist earth

Climbing out of the ground to freedom

Yet finding bondage in the hollow
air of empty promises

I am lost in the process

Resenting, resisting, rejecting growth.

And falling limp for lack of thirst

For lack of fever

Lack of dirt

Wanting more and more and more and more