I Landed Here

I landed here, whether by chance or design, a winged samara,

And stuck,

Lodged in a rocky crevice in my mind.

Wings slowly dis-integrating, until only a memory of the beginnings,

The sensitive inner kernel opening tentatively,

Questioning if home.

*

I put down roots here,

The taproot first, no confining rootball this,

To pry it out, you’d need a machine big enough to break a heart.

*

The branches, first a pair of leaves on the tiniest of stems,

In a spot nearly unnoticeable,

Luckily, not too close to the path,

Not too close to structure,

And not too far away to limit enjoyment.

*

A little more height, mightier roots splitting the rocky ground,

Then an abundance of branches.

I’ve taken care to prune those close to the ground,

Leaving a ladder for later climbing.

*

The trunk, incrementally thicker,

The growth rings concealed behind rough bark,

Leaves falling, increasing the depth of the loamy earth.

Numbered by the cycle of years,

Every round produces a few more seeds that swirl to the ground, taking root,

Each contains a newly formed tree to bear the leaves of my words.