horticulture

i am the poem-
flower, growing
best with shelter,
light from the less
harsh moon - more
room for my deep roots,
my tendrils sinking into the
earth to spread out and grow.

(my thoughts sinking like electricity
into the sand on the beach...so out
of reach...)

gentle words of encouragement
required for buds to bloom and the
room expands, contracts, becomes
both prison and escape. the other
flowers can't relate. or perhaps a
fir poem, evergreen, lasting even
in the frozen, wind swept tundra
from a Russian novel of yore.

you're a
reader
maybe
moreso
than me,
the crazy
uncle poet
type, the rarest
of the rare for who
dares to think such a
soul could endure on a
planet as luscious and
hostile as this.

interstellar plant travel,
roses to jupiter, daisies
to mars, tulips to the keiper
belt - and so on to infinity with
all the names, all the kinds, all
the plants known and unknown ...
as others back on earth prepare
to dress up and go out, i wonder
what kind of plant i would be.

it's the life for me. as i continue
to heal, to reel in the immensity
of the cosmos in front of me, all
around me, surrounding and en-
veloping me. develop me life film,
beauty from the negative.

someday soon i shall start my world
tour to rename all the flora and fauna
with poetic names i'll remember to put
into a book for future generations. i have
to get right on this, preparing for the trip.

a living, breathing plant poem planted in the
moist soil of your mind, your soul imprinted
into the reading of it, filtering it to your world
view - through the eyes of a leaf, falling.

green thumb character creation.
dream generation contemplation -
a collection of what-ifs combined
with what-was (perceived)
relieved with what was
received and or con-
ceived in that in-
stant, that en-
tire moment.

tired moments
add up, are cast
about - seeing the
characters and scenes
of the story - rushing to get
them down, letting them run
around my mind a bit first -
more writing about writing
than actual writing?