Stones of age, sparkling in sun,
gleam at the light to hold.

A few dull—where nothings run,
Seams with trifles cold.

Pressure and pressure— more dull rocks won,
Nothing to shine in light.

They gleam their darkness to fade the sun,
Nothing to shine at sight.

With enough pressure,
And time just right.

A fissure,
A spark— sets light.

For in the weight of ignorance- of dull stones,
A spark, not wisdom, pulls blight.

Now,
For the sheer weight of consequence to mold-
The light, of dull rock— can first hold.

Somewhere far away where nothing looks the same
I could see a pretty dancing dandelion dame

Nobody would rob her from her joy
and nobody saw her as a toy

she danced and danced with a smile
she could go on dancing for a while

she had no doubts, no insecurities, no fear
because no humans or danger were anywhere near

Oh, dandelion dame, I wish I was you in some way
because humanity, reality and this city are grey

Sitting up
On the shelf
Between the cucumbers and zucchini
Delicate vegetables in hues of yellow
Longing to be returned to the garden.

Gazing down
At me,
Little squash
Freshly taken from a crate
In the back of the refrigerated truck
On a long journey from what was familiar.
Far traveled, the linoleum strikingly different
From the warm soil baked by the sun,
Your kin next to you, safe and sprinkled
With the earth.
Plucked from the branch,
Swept away from the flowery buds
Unassumingly awaiting your same fate.
Dragged through the air,
Your once carefully placed existence,
Groomed to perfection,
Basking in the life of the warm garden,
No longer holds you to it.

In the market,
The mist sweeps down,
Reminding you of home.
Reminiscent,
You long of the same thunderstorms that captivate me,
Feeling the earth and her tears from heaven on my skin.
Absorbing,
As if you were
A sponge
Taking in your surroundings,
Holding them dear and flourishing
In your environment,
Only to be rung out,
Waiting to take in more,
Never of the same matter.

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