“Like berries pruned and pressed,
I am being stomped down
To the heaviest I can bear.
Til the last joint remains unbroken,
My face takes a bite of earth–
Stepped down at all points…
With a back left with dirt smudges.
I shout no more, I cry no longer–
Outwardly for you to see.
Yet inside are glimpses of death,
Loss and separation, gnashing
Like a saw grinding my loins.
Indeed it is no sweet and delighting
To find the way in shards of you,
As if the crimson-colored dye
Lights its way to the barrel.
Confined and contained,
Contaminated in four walls…
However miracles happen,
And the aroma spurs out
From a desire to pour out–
To rain, shower to our souls
In thirst of this,
Get hooked with bittersweetness.”