Abandoned roots can still produce a garden.
Cracking through asphalt and salted snow,
They’ll grow taller than the mountain tops.
Taller than the satellites that blanket the earth,
And the hegemonies you’ve learned to respect.
Pluck the stars like petals to know that the universe does love you.
A stem from ancient ground is what you are.
A sapling.
Rooted in a history that the scared paved over,
Blooming into a being that can drink from the sun.
A taste you’ve acquired.
Saccharine and clean.
A nectar that you share with the past.