I'm thinking about Flowers
        I forgot to feed
and rocks
      I wear
but don't always believe in.

                               I always wanted
                                             to be
                                                      grounded­;
              wanted roots to
                        sprout
           twist
                       and
                                  grow
                deep.
­
But I am not dirt, nor root, nor flower.
I am the empty watering can.

Love holds me captive, a willing prisoner
behind the iron bars of beauty
where our hearts and minds linger
Loves eternal sentence is ultimately served.

I still carry the Sunlight of childhood
stashed in a jar on a shelf in the kitchen
where my mother teases her sons
and bakes apple pie in the oven
while washing laundry in a twin tub
she has to hold down as it tries to take off.
And I can hear her voice following me
with warnings and threats of admonition
as I go out into the big playground of the World
with all the free Sunlight a child can handle.

Night follows day follows night
the in and out of light
While you leave dust trails,
in your wake, skin flaked
And maybe you lived for another
for the smallest of time
Sharing in the spirit of love
free gratis the gifts of your soul.

Someday comes around
when roots are put and putting down
a place to live out your banishment,
as best you can.
The final stretch of your pilgrimage
is at a leisurely pace as you wait,
to be plucked from the land of this World.