The terra cotta
pot—which underlies
and engenders the flowers—
does not
challenge; it does not
object, but
applies its
clay-dull concentration
to the task—
breathing in,
then exhaling, bulging
outward again—
it touches
the bare earth
at all times,
no matter what—leaving
absolutely
no space in between
(it is an expert at that).
It knows
it is
a miracle—a revelation
to grow
and to change
and to stay
and to leave—but
it is a discipline
to remain
content
to play the same bit part
in every
consecutive moment.
