The prompt from onesingleimpression this week is fissures. Here is my poem.
If we were a mountain
it wouldn't matter,
If we were a waterfall,
full, beautiful, rainbow drunk,
the cracks would be irrelevant.
If we were a rock
or a fossil,
the little divisions
would add character,
be magically artistic.
If we had accomplished something
somewhere along the way,
some formation of mending clay
like tenderness, like forgiveness,
these fissures would not have
opened into gaping holes,
earths, dreams, weights of hope.