In the Weeds

Six years ago I met you
And today I run toward your house
And the park behind it 
It's all where souls are molded and shattered and molded again

I was confused when we spoke about your grief
Among it, a tree destroyed by a spring storm
And now I mourn for that tree every day
But another awaits with its roots committed to the soil

A soil that is the bed for these flowers by the roadside 
They are weeds to those that cannot greet them by name
As if weeds were a bad thing

I was confused when we spoke about your aversion
For the sun that peaks through radiant trees on a fall day
And now, I curse the sun as well
When it washes out the leafless branches that live inside us

Branches that force life into us
That don't stop until we do
That reach up for what sustains them

A little more than six years ago I met you
And today you are within a mattress of spring snow
And the sacred home under that
It's all where souls are molded and shattered and molded again