Sprinkled over perhaps-exhausted soil
with equal parts hope and fear
Watered haphazardly with secret dreams, and
the occasional energetic cloudburst of serious effort;
but then neglected until they turn brown ’round
the edges, until the ache of them brings on new
storms of tears.
Some I planted long ago and then forgot;
they sprout and green up like volunteer corn
in what I though was my field lying fallow,
like a gift, a string around my finger,
a tug at the hem of my ambition.
I will put it on the back of my hand
where I can see it,
where I will remember: Keep the light shining.
Hack out the deadwood, yank at the thorny weeds
that threaten to choke out the

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