Are you ready to receive the world?

Why, then, have you sewn your

heart at each tear,

glued shut its cracks?

Defense and protection, you say.

Like the beaver laying

mud over its dam.

Like the groundhog shutting

its tunnel from the sun.

A mended heart is as a

fist closed tight, with

birds pecking tirelessly

for the seeds within.

Will you tense at each peck?

Or,

Will you release your fingers

from your hold,

Knowing the goodness of

the world would like

to enter?

Will you open up your heart,

embrace its tears like

it were a set of open

hands, ready to embrace the light

which lands upon it?