what now?

What of all the ground
scarified with insights
Spattered with shells of experience
Mixed with the clippings of expectations
and chips of disappointment
Layered with shavings of grace
heaped and seeded
in a mound of good will?
What of the sprouts tended,
pinched and tutored
under a sky cleared
of doubts once splayed above?
What fruits may grow
I’ll never know
as I’m beholden
to only move on
Lest my shadow be too long