Wondering

I can’t help Wondering– if the Wondering was born with me.

 

Or it came to me, spun down from that gnarled, twisted tree. 

Sowed into the earth, under that silvery gaze of a gardener that sowed us all.

 

Or if uprooted is its end – a path where the moon eclipses – darkness destroying us

From the inside out. 

 

Or lying at my end, set ablaze, it blisters, it burns, it breaks. 

Becomes a smoldering light

To reach for

In the depths of night. 

Amalie@kua

VT

15 years old

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