Behold,
a plump peach at its peak;
Taut, furred skin wrapped around thick flesh,
wrapped around a seed; inside a dream sleeps.
Caught up in the sublime,
how easy it is to forget,
prime is same time
closer to rot than ever.
When it cracks
awake,
the dream will emerge - no rush,
soft as a new mother’s touch,
advances
pushing
carving out its way,
possessed
by its purpose.
Such is nature
to turn small things greater;
as great must turn small
All heed the call.
Rising from the putrid,
finally, free of its housing
the dream consumes its broken surroundings
building while destroying, its spirit buoyant.
Meanwhile,
the peach
melts
defeated
at peace.
My collections of mistakes
incline to repeat.
Repetition fathers learning
Soon mine must be complete…
Let it crack!
