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