A Blow. A Harvest.

Grow,
and grow,
and bugs. And thirst.

An innocent stomp.
Hail, perhaps.
Nightfall with rest.

Warm morning sun.
New growth.

Thirst. And bugs.
More to overcome.

I survive and
bloom for the season.
A harvest.

spirals going down

Conviction
can not be had
with ambivalence
riding along.

Ambivalence
can not pass
with discouragement
so relentless.

I am in the hole;
bury me now
or perceive the
tools for digging.