My garden’s pollen drifts
Spun by winds of loving heat
Its microscopic messengers
Drift into eyes, nose, ears
Of any power I can reach thereby.
Roots strain and twist far
Beyond the underground of safety
Toward knowledge of good and evil
As it sways little children’s fears-
My roots will bind them if they can.
Once we find one another
Bind one another into blossoming
Handsful of tints and shades
Not one of which shines as bright
Without all the others–
Then fruit falls last and best
And we seed a hundred futures
Of strong new gardens
Fresh germination of life
From who we were and what we grew.