In The Roots

I water the plants at midnight

Not because I am a creature of neglect,

But because I am pulled by the suddenness of the need,

The sharp, burning desire of living.

.

Roused by the aching urge to nurture,

I crawl with sleep-mussed hair to old glasses

Filled with yesterday and yesterweek's water

Sitting, gathering sunlight and moonlight on the windowsills.

.

I pour them into shadowed pots and vases I cannot see past the rim

And crawl back to bed

To sleep with the happy whisper

Of midnight watered roses.

.

The anxiety of life slumbers in my bones and makes a strong habit

Of jostling my nerves when the sky goes still.

The aching need to dip my fingers into moist soil to feel the thrum,

The heartbeat of the roots, consumes me.

.

It buzzes in my brain until I acquiesce and rise,

Shuffle through moonlit corridors,

And fill my canteen of dreams from the pale roots

Resting in cool black soil.

.

Then I can sleep.

The memories lodged in the soil,

Flowing from green leaves to white roots

Will keep my head cool on the pillow with fresh dreams.

.

Silver Serpent Books

.