Downpour of plough

I try to take out the words

hidden in my pages
hollow bubbles
addled, unable to fly
volumes of lifeless letters
crowded, clouded
onerously play in my organs
I know you wouldn’t overwrite your love
on written leaves
but they refuse to leave
I lie like a useless instrument
my garden, overburdened
with stillborn thoughts.

With effort, one by one,
I clear them all
so your saplings could fall
reign upon my open field
your search for emptiness
reaches my space
my senses
feel the yield
not anymore on the run
in the same soil I fly
experience fulfillment.