on the inside, he is
garden. wild forest within
fascia. woodland
that has died &
cycled through its
husk over & over &
again, & come
back to itself. his
are the unending
roots, holding hands
with ancestors. his is
the face that follows
the sun, & tulip body
grown from clay, never
still. his is the strolling
growth, quiet in its
giving, humble in how
it keeps so many

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s