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wilting—growing
a sprout am i
and all but growth i shun
these tender leaves of green i’ve spun
so truly of the ground am i
my hands clasped tight
on what is yet to come
what may simply appear to some
as melting—in oppressive light
i am melting—
mixing with this puddle
tapping into greatness subtle
newness i must always letting
furls some wilting
some still higher scuttle
reaching up to blueness muddled
loftiest intentions setting
this is the truest me
-q.s.
