A slender maple shoot
the size of a swizzle stick
twirls between my fingers.

Freshly pulled
from the slim gap
between decking and brick,
its thin white lace of roots
remains unsullied by soil.

I let it fall,
twirl down from the second floor
to new mown lawn below,
absorbed into a vast
sea of green.


3 thoughts on “Green

  1. Ah yes, the volunteer, patient participant, forever presenting itself where it is not wanted. I love this short little gem of a poem, Matt! And “the size of a swizzle stick” is a brilliant image!

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