You came to me

like the mother of a long-lost daughter

Your running towards me

ended with a hug

embracing wounds from the inside

with tears that healed with their flow.

Does it mean less because it happened in a dream –

accessible as a fruit plucked from a branch?

Does it mean less because it was given so freely?

I will be black soil

and soak up the rain

– the flower that spreads its fragrance

as it turns toward the sun

in gratitude