winds barely brush though
the wind chime struts its sound,
drops of water in the forest
join the melody in ground.
though as they struggle to sever
all ties to the form,
-dom of free-
In return to the norm.
I stand here mid-thought, forgotten
mid-drop bottom of the core,
grasping all, no, there’s nothing
heaven's cracking, all is pure.
crash landing, back,
-back to rusting back-
finding safety in the blossom