In cracks
sometimes grow
most vibrant things: Exhausted
with resilient, they push
through concrete, effort
of growing
no effort at all. To spread out
roots of; to anchor
heart of; so delicate
leaves spanned outâflower petals
with no need to bloom.
To exist in this place:
Home, everywhere & nowhere; growth,
ritual & quotidian wander.
And the vibrant green urge
of You: Spell cast once
a thousand years ago by hands
with a face
something like my own.
Unruly, the best of them: Wiry limbs inch
toward air vents,
light poles & pipes wrapped round
& round & round; snakey vines squeeze life
from copper & steel, attempt to break them
down to the familiarâraw elements
when they knew each other
in the earth.
These unruly onesâmint & wisteria,
ivy & fernâwhisper sweet-knowings to the hands
they have found: And these hands, too,
unruly,
all of them.
Each finger will pause
to parse Your existence
in reverent quietâabsurdity & sense
of You, both. And what then, sweet fern,
to allow them in?
To trust fingers & wide
open mouths. To trust boot heel
same as sunlight. To bask
in the certainty
of uncertainty, truth loudest
in silence.