birth, at times, is death
i scaled ropes, earthen anchors
tied to those who would be tied together.
you need a knife, a divine edge
for cutting ties, cutting halves into smaller halves,
lesser selves, big chunks of soul
falling down crevices to places unknown, far away
from He who fashioned the blade. we seek freedom
in the roots of others, but we must
cut back; travel light.
carving the rot from our flesh
makes us born into new life; the beginning
of a rope, a thread, a strand