She hit me,
A fallen tree in the woods.
No sound, no brush up against me.
Unobserved, right above the Below.
The place I've called mine,
I knew the entire time she was there,
Broken, but still full of color.
Waiting for a wander, a set of eyes to meet.
She's not gone, I know it.
Each and every fiber holds her to me.
I am her keeper, the place for her roots to dig.
The fruit she bears is a wholesome savor.
Yet spit out is the pit of its sweet exterior.
Surface knowledge to others, perhaps.
But deep down, to her core,
Her seed was what I saw.
Now stuck in the Below, soiled.
It was my Below, but she gave it purpose.
She dug deep, piercing the rock bed beneath.
I can see her new roots as I imagine her sap.
Others can see her Above.
But she is apart of my Below.