Partition

I am of the soil

Like clouds pooling

In a teardrop

A veritable blue

Maybe a blanched-out brown

Floating in an endless stream

Of waterness.

The soil is of me

Of flesh made in lovely hues

Going to the grave

Ever so violently.

Take us away

From each other

If you want this

To end on the battlefield

Of concrete and fireproof jelly.

Leave us alone

To form our own

Misunderstood history

Of iron wills

Maybe silent shrills.

And if that is

Too much in the face

Of a demanding God

Stand back, farther back

And look up to find

A watering hole

A threat of foetal recoil.