Four lbs and fit in one hand and on my mind NO In my mind like mycelium on a forrest floor.

Flushing like mushrooms with the seasons or rain or trauma or joy

She left home but my mind still leaves room for her and what is left and still

Like a tree that thinks the fungus is still there that makes strange gloaming melancholies and whispers

She is still on my mind, in my heart and my soul. The pieces I gave her freely are gone.

I'm detached armor, shield and sword on a rack at home if she decides she needs them

But the rust is coming because she doesn't

Protector with no root.

Fast wisdom and a slow body never made me mad before.

But now I am