enough to feel
the heat of hell,
and tips that reach
to scrape the diamonds
undergirding heaven;
appendages which shake,
bend, and
quiver themselves to pieces
with the littlest hint
of oncoming wind,
yet which always resolve
to remain spread
wide open
and stiff
in the pose of
perpetual giving;
but above all,
a fierce and
obstinate reluctance
to admit
when you've been killed
and abandon your position,
and just as fierce
a willingness
to come back
to life in six months
and forgive.
All of this—
and nothing less,
and all of the time,
and all of your life—
is what it will take
if you ever expect,
in spite
of the callous
vicissitudes of seasons,
to stand in the dirt—
and the light—
and to live.
