Bright morning dark in the way that I think.
Wash down the drain with barely a blink
Remains of my Mentha Piperita in the sink.
(It died while they lied me down at Riverside)
The wet soil smell draws out water from my eye;
Dry roots reaching out to the memory of life:
Buzzing summer with my hands in the earth,
Green hope growing like the fruits of our work!
Oblivious I was dead ’til I remembered Rebirth.
ABOUT THIS POEM? FIND IT HERE : ABOUT MY POETRY