i thought my chest was scooped

out empty, dry

~~

but as i scanned my ever 

beating heart, i found 

~~

a little bit buried and partially

stale, yet there was still 

~~

a tiny-weeny mustard seed

of faith, that everything 

~~

could still be worked for good.

and i remembered that all that 

~~

must be done was to raise that puny 

seed up to the light, to water it with 

~~

tears. then light can do its holy work 

causing hope to sprout, to grow 

~~

and blossom once again. and all it takes 

is the humblest, most meagre of beginnings.

~~

©Heather Pound 2023

image:Artsy Vibes/Unsplash