Scraggly roots cling
while green tendrils grasp for sky.
The rock wears a quilted coat of moss.
I finger the softness of the womb
cradling the cold smooth stone.
Grey and green take flight like a bird
toward an old abandoned house.
Crash. Shatter. My arm freezes mid air.
Ripped like meat from bones,
moss hangs from a jagged edge of glass
…and the stone is lost
somewhere inside the neglected frame
of a rundown house.