“If the root doesn’t trust, the plant won’t blossom,”—(William Stafford)

Unfurled, no longer fooled by pride’s

tough rind, forgiveness bleeds and

seeps into well-soaked ground. Roots

waken, start their slow thrust

to trust the aquifer far below. Later,

a first tiny bud blossoming breathes

into air, welcomed by sky, by you,

by the us only here by the good

grace of life.