I am not a garden, but in my brambles the sweetest of fruit grows
Bursting on the tongue, staining laughing lips
A healing gift
Paid for in blood
Rocky uneven ground and sudden blind drops
Hard edges and shadows
Trees gnarled and strange
At the edge of that icy wellspring a patch of sunlight waits
You can rest here safe, defended
Travel on in strangeness
There is a daisy by the path and a wild she fox with her kits
You will see wonders, feel deeply your own pain
There is a still pool further down by which a humble hut awaits
Inside you will find warm blankets and a fire, tools and peace to work
But no food
The food here has a cost – will you pay it?
Or eat the dust of your own reflected dreams, waiting for someone else to feed you
Unaware that it was there, waiting for you simply to reach for it
All this time

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