Growth

Heavenly Father, Mother Earth, Undertaker

(all the same),

I am small.

Single granule: “compact particle of substance.”

Though neither uniform nor solid for I have given to emptied yet always full

in need by blossoms calling for

substance to fruit.

Recessed to fetal curling and snarling;

Great grizzled bear denied winter’s solitary respite.

Not so great. After all, I am small.

I am as a dormant seed answering to the whim of winds and wrath of rain,

I defer

to the will of Father Time, Lady Luck, Grim Reaper

(all the same),

and culminate (at last compressed

by peat and petrichor to stay my place),

in rest.

Atrophy of flesh, vigor departs

for matter as host afresh,

pervading the aggregate.

Downward touching memories so close they touch back like attestation upwards from essence of ancestors registered below,

returning diffused vigor collected in rain passed down from the blossoms atop towering fruitful canopy

transformed

taking passage through limbs like blood warm in veins to pump though

trunk and roots

stirring sediment of knowledge,

consolidating rearrangement.

Transcending death in truth

matter can be neither created nor destroyed

only changed

by divinity, chemical reactions, magic

(all the same).

I am a seed, fruits, roots.

I am small and large as everything.