Buried Remnants

In the dirt, a gnarled piece of wood,

buried years in a garden gone good.

Twisted and dark, it strains to be seen,

a reminder of life, of places I've been.

I dug deep, the roots clung to the past,

the weight of what’s lost, the things that won’t last.

Yet here in my hands, the earth's quiet pulse,

a fragment of memory, both sharp and convulsed.