My fav event as harvest season approaches
is the rough seed that escaped the plots.
If there’s a cornfield adjacent to another bed
of vegetables, you can count on imperfection,
you can see stalks standing where they’re
not supposed to be, the winds have ideas,
seeds who choose wildness, here they are,
with red potatoes, alfalfa, peas, sunflowers,
they look pleased w/ themselves, outfoxing
clever farmers, making it to the unplanned
ground where nobody is around, recovering
where the amiable dirt will welcome them.
Seeds are so fun and determined,
there’s no concept of liberty, no need for it,
guaranteed if I were a seedling I’d abstain,
you know I would, I’d find a way to renounce
what’s expected of my common name,
gliding over the roads until a dream takes root
