Newly planted in fresh, organic soil---
the first rain is approaching.
Are your fragrant leaves
quivering in anticipation, or
in naked fear of the unknown?
Does the thunder rattling your roots
cause them to retract defensively or
shiver and expand at the unexpected thrill?
And what of the lightning flashing
like fireworks at midnight?
Are you confounded by illumination
in the obsidian darkness or are you
reaching skyward in eager anticipation
of the sporadic electrified light?
Do you feel the ecstasy of a tiny blossom
becoming a heavy, luscious, red tomato?
Do you recall the dry, embryonic safety
of the seed, the void from whence you came?
And when all your food is taken, ripped
from your stems---do you mourn the loss
or exalt in the hundreds of seeds
you so generously left behind?
O, garden, mirror of all of life,
how I envy your transitory,