Tiny, Desperate Seeds

When that seed of lack plants itself (again)
deep in your heart or your brain or even one day
when it brushes your skin,
buries itself in your tangled hair
which is every day, which is many times every day
because these seeds are more numerous than snowflakes
or dandelion fluff—floating and sturdy
but not indestructible
When deep in the night they whisper
All is lost don’t cover your ears
or try to sleep or even
drown them out with a litany of
all you ought to be grateful for.
Pull them close, those tiny desperate seeds
Pat their griping heads, hold their grasping hands,
Murmur There, there… mindless comforting sounds.
Tell them everything will be okay
Tell them everything is contained,
held and then released to leave
dreaming of the sun