Throughfare

I brush my hands through  
the wild grass, faintly  
tipped in blood. At first,  
a drop. I close my eyes  
and it begins to trickle  
even pooling, my offering  
by knife-edge a sharpened  
blade slips into rugged palm.
 
The flowers, do you see?  
Sprouting free, rose thorns  
reaching out to thank me.
 
I wade my way through the riverbed  
to obscure the waters, provided  
the blood spreads; diluting deeply  
rather than thinning too sparsely.  
Further dripping to its roots  
to restore her soul essence  
yearning in the riverbed.