by Rae Spencer
Through the grace of green grasses
And pale pear buds
In maroon furling roses
Flushed with promise
And too busy, yet, for splendor
With the impertinence of daisy seeds
That last year fell beside my steps
And have plotted all winter
To rear their beautiful heads
Among the azaleas
And with a great shout of thunder
So enters a new season
Teaching again
The imperative nature
And permanence
Of roots
To have true roots
The kind that nourish
Rather than simply anchor
One must learn to love the soil
To feel the deeper tides
Of continental drift
And gravity
Follow this tangled path
Into cold, damp earth
You will not need your heart
Such warm flesh
As worships the sun
Is joyous and beautiful
And as transient as orchids
In the darkness
Deep in layers of ages
And soil
Is absolute wisdom
And the unyielding honesty
Of stone
These subterranean oracles
Deliver their gift of permanence
Without the necessity of sun
Or the permission of time
In this way
Even tame roses
Remember they once were wild
Understand the advantage of thorns
And pure white pear buds
Know that grace
Is coincidence
A trait fully bound
To the fiber of roots
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