The Green

Through the fire, thicket thorn

As the broken branches mourn

I cup your face, a slate newborn

My most familiar clean

Losing limbs, you regrew me

Writing pages, chapter three

Our scribbled star filled history

Flowing within the green

Outward inward, now a balm

Holding growing in our palm

Singing loudly every psalm

As one, we plant unseen

_____

Photography:  The Shalom Imaginative