Inside the broken finch egg she saw a new speckled world.
She was out of her head and could not pick up the shards of shell
she had caused to crack by not speaking up.
Just arriving inside the pickle jar dream
she dreamed of when she was teary eyed and twenty-two
she joked that the vision
now seemed distorted.

Her internal clock was punching her gut, spelling out in Morse code
that this situation was not right.
Uneasy but unwavered she planted her garden and tried to unpack
her old life out of boxes but the spaces made clean were all circular
so in her sleep she sorted through her needs and wants and what felt right.

Uncomfortable and tossing. Coughing and back in pain she woke up early
every morning with the gaining solstice light.
The porch she worked on obtained pieces of a family's past
that she was not allowed to touch with dirty fingers or make clever comments on.
She tried hard not feel like a visitor in the distance.

All of the coffee she wanted was available, every bill she had was paid.
Still she felt like she didn't have what she needed. She was still searching
for the ideal she painted for this moment. She was screaming inside
to have more love. More hugs, kisses, sensual and romantic stones to be thrown.
She needed was receiving a kick from her spirit to pursue a greater path
that devoured her hours with enlightenment and connectivity.

She could only give that gift to herself and then and only then would she begin
again to feel like herself.
Everything in its right place.