When punctured by a fingernail,
bursts open, spewing out a tiny seed
whose fibrous filament
circles round and round
arcing back on itself,
holding itself in tension like a spring.
Though tiny, insignificant, they come back
and I have found them
every fall of my life
and picked the frail, fibrous shell
and spilled out the seed,
surprising the wind and my heart,
which flutter in bidding it off.