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Description
Would my words grow as roots –
break through the damp sod
and in their tangling, spread on everoutwards.
From the soil draw the damp, the life, the growing,

in growing grow more.  Let them tangle, let them overcome
the straightness of the horizon.
If these words could only split
the lines of letters, mar the numbness of creation

and thrive utterly vegetable.  Slower than the lines of lightning,
slower than the human hand, – far slower
than the weight of the rock
pressing down on our backs.

My fingers of roots break through your loam.
It’s all darkness down there.  No fingertips touching.  No eyes.  If only
these words might infest that lightless earth.

Let them bloom in secret then – hidden, deep.
Let them live their ghostly lives inside your ghost.
Alone, unknown – free with force of unwritten pages, free like fallow fields.

Description
Would my words grow as roots –
break through the damp sod
and in their tangling, spread on everoutwards.
From the soil draw the damp, the life, the growing,

in growing grow more.  Let them tangle, let them overcome
the straightness of the horizon.
If these words could only split
the lines of letters, mar the numbness of creation

and thrive utterly vegetable.  Slower than the lines of lightning,
slower than the human hand, – far slower
than the weight of the rock
pressing down on our backs.

My fingers of roots break through your loam.
It’s all darkness down there.  No fingertips touching.  No eyes.  If only
these words might infest that lightless earth.

Let them bloom in secret then – hidden, deep.
Let them live their ghostly lives inside your ghost.
Alone, unknown – free with force of unwritten pages, free like fallow fields.