Dormant in dry divots,
in the basins,
what I am, what I will and what I will be
is rained, is whetted,
by what is, what is not and what will not be.
There blooms the green resilient,
the sulphured algae,
hot spurned by weathers –
the must of us.
There plumes communion –
chance and wide endeavor –
flush and fumed –
above the gathered ponds.
Image: Darion Queen on Unsplash
Sweet and Bitter Greens 