Branches curl their gnarled fingers
Sprouting leaves as thick as hair
I’m older, but drifting alone again
Through the botanic gardens
Roaming the hot houses
I taste that chewable air
Holy loneliness
I hold you dear to me…

The roughness of weathered bark
contrasts the delicacy of fresh stems
Poking from fractured seeds
I feel the world breathe
I’m taking part, I made my peace
I don’t...

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