(1970, from Novel J’s)

Oblique setting
sun caressing my shoulders,
legs, crossed yoga-style,
sitting on the hard dirt.

Freely rooted?

Crushed and broken
beneath a passing car’s weight,
all that remains
are two tire-tracks now molded into
this ground, once wet and malleable.

Exposed, now cut off at earth
a stubbled root
of foliage
that once boldly, naively,
carelessly, groped to break
through the sod, grasping for
the light.

Freely seeking?

All that is left lies
below the ground,
in darkness.

Does the root
under the ground even know
know there is sunlight above?
If so, will it dare try again
to grow?

If unknowing, will it
be content to lie
buried in darkness?