It’s amazing how a subtle word
can slide so gently into a mind
and I ponder this
do I grow roots with the seeds
thrown by the gardener
or is it the pang
like a slit in a wrist
through the rushing blood
the knife slips in
to scrape the untamed soul
of a free spirit
who never had a row of geraniums
but instead wildflowers
under the absence of a green thumb