Beneath my bones, a broad rock softens,

curly in green,

brown edged summer moss

shaded and alive,

alive and moving slowly across millennia.

Sitting and looking out, deer gazing back,

sitting and sensing,

sitting, staring.

Shifting light. Hugging heat.

The massive stone suddenly nudges:

Be clear,

I have been cleaved,

nearly in two.

A ravine in me deepens,

leaves filling, critters finding home

in darkness.

Up wells Spirit–

split rock, cleaved heart–

in a heart broken life grows,

surfaces crack, creation revealing itself

in breakage.

A community of beings inhabits

what was once a terroir of the unbroken.

Insight flashes, quickening my blood

along with the ants.

I’m swarmed.

What rose from below erupted in them too.

Go, sit still

in the fertility of brokenness.