I have relegated you to a 2x2 space you'll share with two others. The wind bites and the sun pours only on the spires of the tallest pines with the deepest roots. And here we are, you and I, below the ground, above the sea next to the grade school on 109.
I don't expect your growth. Not until the sun pours down at least upon the junipers and holly. Though so often we find ourselves among the fern fronds and soft moss. Stay standing in this 2x2 I'll sing to you here below the ground, above the sea next to the grade school on 109.
I had a dream that I woke from in a euphoric daze like my wishes might be true and validated and all was right in my core in my heart, two muscles that have been weak and aching. I had a dream that I woke one morning and this white walled Bacchanal tabernacle had turned deep green. That you burst forth from the space that I relegated you to. You seized my apartment, the island, the county, you looked down on Manhattan from the cliffs of Fort Lee as you turned the brackish liquid of the Hudson from sludge to water to salt to land. And corporally you confined me to a 6x6, how generous, where my body lays still living below the ground, above the sea next to the grade school on 109.
But your roots in my core and your flowers in my heart, I am with you looking down on Manhattan and I hear you say "I am life, your dearest friend, your closest family, you kept me close when the sun only poured upon the pinnacles of pines, you held space for me when we were relegated to the moss and ferns, come with me from the undergrowth, I love you and yours. I'll hold you strong, my roots and flowers will keep-" Then I woke up with love in my eyes that quickly brushed away to keep appearances. I sat in my bed feeling full but forgetting the dream I had played out on my back in my bed below the ground above the sea next to the grade school on 109.
But you spoke again, as if you were in my aching core and pounding heart, "Never ever take for granted what might grow from seeds you've planted."