Chiron sends Vesta
a poem, to flesh
out his section of the library…
I am an egg, finally cracking. I am the yolk. Golden, and on the ground, returned to Earth. A round orb, breaking with a life I am not living, but feeds the roots of All I fall upon. I am the shell, bone and broken, encompassing Nothing, giving Way to Death of dreams. Here, together, the outside and in, both at last relenting. Soft and One. I See how it is perfect as it is.