Ginkgo Again: ‘you kick the sand, you get the upper hand’ – cake

come back to me, Ginkgo,
your budding leaves,
a tale of resurrection
from past ages forgotten
what you cannot forget,
forgiveness required
you’d let go of memory’s
sharp petals from those
tiny green veins, you fed
the synapse new hope
when you shaped yourself
a crinkled pyramid,
a Maiden’s hair,
free from the rape
of weather ungodly,
and the life you live
has seen too much living
to ever know
the pain of death.

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