Aye, am Shú for a name
was overwrit to become anew
it was but a seed once
until i cracked and sprouted
on the mountain side.
do you not remember walking by
on your way home
there I whispered into Ears :
"this too must be so"
I am the grain
from which the first cross
was made, I am I
as the fracture in the iris
which split conscience
from their primal instincts
into humans was made
hearth
For as wyrds to gather
into the palms of my hands
I did blow them
into this world as language
and letters of creation
for much is spoken of a rose
or a lilly which grew
but so little of the soil and shade
for weather and care.
Yet to that return
they all reach backwards
to remove splinter
which tyed the knots then
in the deluge drown
as the string is pulled out
which held it together
freezes.
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