my heart is cracked.

in those cracks I plant some seeds
and in a flash of green they do arise
like godly kings
with petal crowns.
from the flowers sprout a bird
and that bird births a siren song
that charms the lonely beaches
and lusty fields.
dispersed is the fog.
for the moment
they are again alive
vivid and free.
for the moment
they cannot relate
to Atlas and his
shoulders, aching and his
patience, breaking.