Reform, Reform

Careful as a fallen seed I make my way beneath.
A hardly christened bead of life I look for breath,
Make my hands with soil and light, I drink water
From an earthly palm.

What I make of gods or creators I do not think;
Merely a mortal thing, bloodless and singing, I
Tremble without remorse and yearn without shame,
As perhaps a larva would.

When I erupt I make not a sound; a delicate
Becoming of words and wants and wonders,
I do not, shall not speak of them. Here among
The new world, I am taken.

I lift a leaf, and am swallowed by the rain. I
Make a thought from a breeze before it breaks me
Through the middle. Limp and severed, I hang;
So I start diligently on my rebirth again.

Again I die. Again I begin the sowing.
No stiffness holds me; I bend and snap and quiver
Until I am without a body. I dream of everything.
Again I rise without a whisper.

The emptiness is an ocean that shapes me from
The stone; I know, that in my many reformations
I shall not once step into anew alone. I see horizons,
Only to be eaten. A flame in darkness,
Barely abiding, I never give cry.

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