Stark--dark branches
linger in layers--like
tight fitting blocks
of a pyramid.
They are joined
solidely to the trunk--
moving tenaciously into the gound,
roots forcefully breaking
solid Earth,
solid--not wanting
to be split into an
internal chasm.
The Earth quivers at
every invasion--
it wants to expel the root
but waits,
questions.
Who is this
robbing me of my nutrients?
But then Earth gives in,
"Ah, yes I am the mother--
nurturing
through the soil--yet another
roots,
roots,
many make their way
into me, my conciousness
spreads throught them.
They do not,
do not know
that they are my channel.
Plants have only a subconcious."
"I spread through winter sparce bark--
pranayama--they are taking me in,
the energy stored in my nest
holds precious organic matter--
carbon."
"I am at the tip of the plants being
and peering through--bark, skin--
tightly woven dark shelter
that works like a screen
not letting unwanted light in.
I push my sight tighter into that fit space
It is so small I am
compressed like the
potential of liquid oxygen.
Looking out of this plant
I see every other organism
and I peer into
myself endless
variations.