We are tectonic plates in a house of misgivings, knocking together then apart, lava flowing dull-eyed & destructive closer to the village. It’s said life passes in the blink of an eye while we become set in our ways. In my heart is a vase of dead flowers crying without tears for the sun, each skintight night strangling it a little more, a little more. *
The idea for this came from the prompt word “Continents” in a private NaPiWriMo Facebook group. Right away the idea of tectonic plates as a metaphor for a relationship came to my mind. It’s a beginning.
Charlotte Hamrick 
Oh I like this a lot a lot. As a poem, wonderful flavor. I’d say that all in bold but it’s not polite. As a topic, a jumping off place – yes, right up my ally too. By internet accident, became a geology student. We are so small, so brief, that we just don’t see with our human eyes the amazing place where we live.
One attribute I might lean into however. Granted, magna makes a mess of what already is – however it is first, a creation process (ie. the Hawaiian Islands for example, being in total, all magma once upon a time). Something to celebrate I think.
Then becomes new question, does our personal relationship lava also make new land? Don’t know.
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I did actually consider using lava as a “new land” or as rebuilding the relationship. I may yet do it. I often revise my napowrimo poems. Thanks for reading, Neil. I really appreciate your thoughtful comments.
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That vase of dead flowers is so evocative. Beyond tears. (K)
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Thanks for reading, kerfe.
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This one holds together really well, considering all the knocking, flowing and strangling.
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