Shower 2:33 a.m.

By Abigail Giroir

It fills the cracks,
trickling through the empty spaces,
off the tips of each leaf and
jutting branch.
Down my tree bark spine,
slipping against the soft green flesh
and onto buried roots.

It fills the cracks,
seeps through sand and pebbles,
erodes the surface,
pulling at the excess
like wind off crashing waves
until there’s nothing but truths,
frigid and invigorating.

It fills the cracks,
linking each thought, word, life
blooming flowers touching
toes beneath the weathered surface,
petals bending under
the same breeze,
calming storms between synapses.

It fills the cracks
that human feet leave
on a well-traveled earth,
completes the cycle,
replenishes, rebuilds, renews,
recycles the fallen, useless pieces,
creates something whole.