out of the mud (unfinished)

she rose up out of the mud

a slimy, yawning thing

her heart is bloody, soft, and pounding

fingertips brushing sharp tangy grass

crawl slowly toward the Light

little one. You are loved

the damp earth of morning

cradled in sunlight, she opens her eyes

for the first time, drinking

in the world

wobbling she stands

the strength of untested muscles, a surprise

smooth muddy skin

fragile as paper, sinewy as trees

fingerprints whorled out of nothingness

the sky stretched taut above her

unshattered blue sea

she is a half-made thing

an unfinished poem

a thought only just beginning to form

in the mind of her maker

beloved with eyes muddy dark

pure, but broken already

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