Rooted, I used to think.

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Tuesday, Jul. 13, 2004 @ 9:36 pm
Morning Glory

Morning glory.

Growing crazy around me.
Seeds, in their heads, sprouting hallucinations.

Seeds, needs.
The bindweed, twined behind and between us.

Across the whitenening charcoal I watch you. Out of the morning glory peer racoon faces, bandits, you tell stories about them. The vine grows up that pear tree, strangling, but not yet. Fruit so high, so heavy, they drop dangerously. Small pears sillhouetted in the dusky sunset sky.

Sweet heavy fruit, I haven't forgotten about you. I heard he likes you, that's all I can say, that's all I know. My hope, like those morning glory flowers, opens up and withers within one day. A flower every now and then.

I drive home in the heat of the sleeping city night. You're curled in that bed and the morning glory sweeps up the outside of your room, heart-shaped leaves, a tsunami of my green love crashing silently against your headboard.

Bee in Everett Crowley Park, East Van

Roots | Shoots