we plant seeds in the cracks of the asphalt
coaxing them out of the ground between the weeds
there are little places like these everywhere, not beautiful but
sacred, unknown: vines curling over the edge
of a crumbling wall, a clump of dandelions in the field
across the Catholic school, the sunset glimpsed
over the now-closed Kmart, windows shuttered
the outline of its stripped letters still visible like scars
like a shell, the last vestige of a bygone era,
something we could blow away if only we wished hard enough
behind it the sky blazes: crimsons, pinks, lavenders
so wide and bright it could swallow us whole
but I do not wait for it, do not wait for the light
to kiss the pebbles we have just turned
instead i ask you to watch the gravel, to wait
for the seedlings to push through the ground
petals to unfurl from the bulb and reach
to your outstretched hand, and then i promise
i will come home soon.
