a green world moves
through labyrinthine grains
draws molecular rain
through interstices of decay
roots in brown darkness
see light through blind dirt
ache for it in their pallid hearts
drink the muddied rain to reach it
© BH, 2021
I was writing about roots. Another poem entirely now and shared in other quarters for the moment. This was how the early draft began as I sat before a roaring fire in the far West nursing a dram. The rest took a different turn and, in the end, these nine lines became their own poem. About roots.
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