a sprout seeking gentle mist sweet rains, preferably at dusk, in cotton candy skies. nourishment, to grow stronger, to remain rooted through thunderstorms.
soft plant wants kisses, wants sunshine, wants song. a wind too strong, uproots. too much hot hot summer sun burns leaves, browns, withers. rain too heavy hurts.
without care, we mourn the loss of what could be. to grow, sweet soft plant, in moonlight.
weep into its soil. press finger tenderly into, feel the wetness of tears and want. cake under nail. let it dry and tighten skin. the scent of life, linger. don’t wash it away.
sweet soft plant wants us to know what it needs, so it can thrive. it is tired of fighting for space through cracks in sidewalks, patches worn out of asphalt, under weight of feet and tires and dog shit. it has spent enough time in inhospitable soils. find good fertile grounds. loosen up the dirt. break up what is hard. cultivate rich. it will be a happy home.
become together. heal the breath in lungs that are gasping. must not drown plant, must not rot from the inside, must not give too much, must stay in the ground, must let root deep down to reach up up to the strange bright moon.
what do we put at risk when we overwhelm our sprout?
a chance to bear its fruits, be strong and large and deep and healthy, to be magnificent. seasons and seasons. produce nectars to heal bodies, heal hearts, heal worlds. what to celebrate. not to mourn. great beauty, dear plant, to treasure. what could be. finally some meaning where there was once just some dirt and a possibility.
whisper to the plant that you love it. sing softly and rub your face in its tendrils. let it wrap around you, hugging. it wants to be right here with you, to find some kind of home in the ground down deep. it desires the chance to grow with you.
what do you want to grow?