to accumulate gradually—
its little green spears take
their time broadening
into fat wise leaves,
which then rain down
flowers for months thereafter,
with the indiscriminate grace
of a grand old catalpa
tree, anointing as it shelters
everything underneath.
But knowledge is a
much more brutal force—
no cart, all horse; it charges
only forward, carrying nothing
but its own momentum, fast
and hot as lightning
and just as precise—often
pointlessly so:
only one thing—if it lives
to appreciate it—
is left any different after
it dissipates.
