lettersfromabasket.

the little lion
sat in a wicker basket
for a dozen years.

there he sat and watched
from his watchtower,
his safe wicker perch.

he could see the curve,
leaves and salt from east to west,
depth, from north to south.

the curve was so strong
it should have knocked him over:
it did, but not yet.

twelve, twenty-four, more,
the days to years to decades.
from his perch he watched.

his rods worked just fine,
he could see all of kansas
for miles, ear to ear.

his cones were quite dim,
reminiscent of his mind
and his heart's desires.

white corn isn't white,
but that is all he could see.
a little black, too.

he was unaware
that purple wasn't a myth,
that purple could walk.

ignorance is bliss:
they thought very highly of
the little lion.

but they could not see
that he could not see color,
that he was afraid.

the depths of his eyes,
the depths of his heart, filtered,
through a lens of soil.

he could not grow corn,
nothing could grow in his heart.
seeds among boulders.

he climbed the boulders,
and from his fresh perspective,
wondered and wandered.

on his adventure,
he stumbled upon something:
a dark piece of glass.

it was in the dirt,
but it was not of the dirt.
in--but not--the soil.

with anxious joints,
the little lion knelt down,
and beheld the glass.

he did not touch it;
his fingers were too filthy,
unworthy, he thought.

he sat their looking,
as many of his kind do,
and thought wordless thoughts.

all thoughts. no words,
no intentions, no actions.
thoughts on purple glass.

thinking, thinking, thought.
his perch had not been in vain.
he picked up the glass.

and he looked through it,
and everything looked purple.
marvelous!, he thought.

down the boulder's side,
down into the dirt-stained dirt.
down among the seeds.

not a root in sight,
just the untethered kernels.
sown but not watered.

not unlike his heart,
though the seeds were all planted,
he drank no water.

thirst controlled his feet,
but he was quite unaware
of the purple spring.

but soon that would change.
his thirst quenched, his stomach filled,
roots began to grow.

through the purple glass,
he saw the purple spring
and bathed through the night.

away with the dirt,
his whole body had been cleansed:
he felt so refreshed.

and refreshed he was;
from the spring a new self rose
with a purple heart.

[matthew 13:15]