Growing roots wherever seed drops
but the metaphor seems to draw itself out largely by spoken word
not in the written
not in the now
Grime caked nails adorn weathered fingers
scoop and feel the cool and rough texture surrounding
dive into the sack
dive forward
in the sweaty work there is the promise of result
in the worn boots there is the hope of growth

just before season ends with the late september dogs’ song

New tender shoots coerced by time and divine nurture
grounded within bounded agrarian culture a perishable process
and they bear their new nature
and they bear seed
Time presses on the harvest being threshed and claimed
consumed by the action that use and purpose collide
fallen they’ve begun the chrysalis change
fallen they are no more

arms tired as the weight of success creates
legs given out as the end of season comes

just as the planted become death for the next generation

the cycle continues without concern for older plants
they never have the chance to age

not in the written
not in the now
dive into the sack
dive forward
and they bear their new nature
and they bear seed
fallen they’ve begun the chrysalis change
fallen they are no more

1:20am
20 January 2010

Is there soil for old plants?