Thursday, April 12, 2012

Grossula Sport

She rests lazily on the sill
What is there to do, really?
It’s April and sun beats down, but not too hard
Temps are barely 65 and 40s in the pre-dawn
Oh Spring,
Praise to the Maker

But flow and flow and flow some more
IS what she does

But that’s only the flipping branch
Like mama’s hair two score and five ago

The rest of the strands stand erect
They’ve not found their flow
Or their in a flow, but blocked

Pleasing the sun and the roots
Only north and south
Up and down
They dare not live outside the pot

Only the one branch lives outside the interior safe place
She curls up and over and
She is showing a pinkish strand
Is it a flower?
Praise to the Maker

Her budding branches grow faster than all the rest
Even though she is furthest from the core of nutrition and the center of the root
Even flow is not what is seen here
It is uneven flow
We are not all in the same flow
Some branches flow in ways they do not know
We do not know
And yet they go and go and go
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