a little water, a little mercy: you will learn
there is no wrong way to love a plant.
soon, every sprout recognizes your touch.
leaves swell, pinking blooms blush, rise
like fireworks in your palm. you will name
every blossom and they will name you:
a murmur of sunlight, a rustle deep within
roots of primordial paradise,
in a language lost, known only to you
and the descendants of trees.