Garden

One day, the sky broke open and spilled
          lost souls into her garden
When she stepped outside
  they brushed against her ankles,
       tendrils of gossamer web on her skin
She did not know why she left
  them there
But she guessed it had something to do
        with the soul she knew was there,
   hidden among the rest
Between blooming irises and curling ivy
   The soul that knew her own,
   its mottled, battered shape
It was the soul that looked like a broken palm frond
     Vibrant green
Which forever colored the film of her dreams