Day 623

The flowers that grew in your garden
may have seeded themselves
elsewhere, may give forth
generations — carried by winds
or insects — in some
other place.  Your garden
is gone, gone under piles
of fallen concrete, dust, of
everything that lived and breathed,
kissed, danced, blossomed,
fruited, fell in its time
from the stem, in its
full delicious juiciness.  Once this
was a place of abundance.
Once this was a piece of the earth
that gave life.  Who dares to be certain
this will not come again?  Who
will deny this
strength?  This life force? Know
that under the soil — blood-soaked
as it is, riddled
with poisons as it is —
there may well still be
millions of seeds.