Tell me a story of dirt & sun & rain. 
Tell me a quickening & a flourishing,
of hair-thin intent reaching 
deeper & darker
higher & brighter.

Tell me of your frailty, how to be alive 
is to be a miracle, to look in a daze 
at the surrounding ghosts of plants past,
at the carnage common 
enough to go unnoticed. 

Teach me to pronounce the gentle
pushing aside of individual grains,
teach me the verb for October, 
teach me the tense of your proud posture.

It's been so long since we've spoken. 

_{^{The opening line is from José Olivarez’s “Escargot” in his 2023 collection Promises of Gold. The image came from here.}}