gardening my spill quiet
perhaps the cutting
blades of rising Suns
only burn time
where I paid attention
everything else falls
back to the tides
footprints wading for eyes
the why comes
in wide turns
imperceptible arcs
bending each horzon
so as to not let me see
the future without feeling it first
as one might discover
crawling the birth canals of time
whisper curling
hard-scrabbled roots
breaking the bonds
of concrete and metal
because what blooms
knows not any reason to love
but what's inside
the way I seed myself
each go around here
EJR (c)
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