The seeds planted along my spine have began blooming,

A dizzy array of colors flourishing in kaleidoscopic joy,
Between my glass vertebrae.
I am as an open faced clock,
A piano spilling forth with butterflies,
Glorious in procession but infinitely fragile;
A million moving parts in discord and harmony by turns.
 
This darling feral thing between us,
Like a swarm of embers falling upon kindling
(Stored in a dry barn away from the home),
Will overtake horizons as sunrise to a lighthouse.