green in light showering,
felt the dew of moistened leaf skin,
saw within a shaft of light
a promise which would never break,
be that which time wears thin
freeing from us its passage
allowing sooty roots to breathe.
The astral Word undulates in ocean swells,
flowing dark eyed flora,
through wooded thickets, meadow violets,
tolling for a morning when we will wake
together–a song and testament:
reaching in the dark loam,
the fibrous flesh, pale sweetness,
of a fragrant green,
beneath Abrahamic centuries of scarred,
knotted husk–the heart,
time has told me–
be not removed so easily.
Like the vine and fig,
fig and olive,
pilgrim road of palms–
tips of fingers peel at a fissured wall.