Flowers from my liver

Flowers sprout from my liver

soft growth flickers

against the sky.

Bile feeds

not-yellow but pearly petals

not black but jade stems.

Liver draws out cysts of

of loss and anger,

of envy and shock:

slowly, painstakingly remaking

softly, tentatively renewing

subtly, soundlessly recovering.

This flower springs from my liver:

leaves, bud, stem

unfolding into light.

Sun bathes

not-yellow but glowing

not black but growing.