when you open     yourself to the    cold dirt let yourself not be wary, but   grateful for damp soil to soften    the toughest parts calloused on your heart.      a nameless want still lingers     behind. transformation isn’t linear—it follows       no chronology other than the path      our thoughts take, revisiting the     weights of our memories. in this sweet earth   there is so much that    winds like poison oak   on its way to the sun.     confront your grief.     stand on the edge of its      waters besides the     pickerelweed and let its torrents soak you.     remember,    remember,   the river floods to bring new growth. confront your grief    with an open heart. the softened earth      eats away callouses on the heart. an extension of the self lives onward.           be still.