I dug among roots

In the deep, depths

Moist and old

Not yet turned until now

Not turned.


My hand snaked deep

Finding old buds

Planted, God, years ago.

But never pushed out

A single leaf.


They were waiting

For rain that didn’t come

A word, a voice.

I removed them, tossing them

Quickly to compost.


Months later, I looked

At that bare ground

Absent in color, cold

Ring of flesh missing

In my impatience.


22 Nov 04