Fragments: Lavender (for Joe)

i.

i planted the seeds, lemon balm, spearmint, lavender.  the precise
pockets of air, which i would hope them into, or perhaps forget,
stamped out in circles.  each pale thud
the eraser end of a no. 2 sinking into soil.
the other end - leaded with graphite, but no
less - was too unyielding for such a task,
the eventual flesh of it baring teeth early and demanding give.
i comply.

ii.

the green judgment that unfurls around
me in gloaming and twilight, drawing
vermillion to the surface of this body for that
lovely flash of contrast casually epitheted
youth, do not extend to any part of
my hands.  they are warm, winking -
halted by an other inexperience.

iii.

grow, you little - , grow.
i cajole, plead, breath catching when i see the soil making way.
i will rain upon you, a prophesy, and you do not
have an ark - or imperative, agency, facility.
grow your roots, down, deeper, and stand tall.  do not die
a parched death in the flood like that lavender.  oh you - !

iv.

i won't, no one will, give you more than
this - but it is more, always, than what you can survive.
so survive harder.  you must
grow tall, thick, strong.  push, push, twist towards the light,
it fades at six, it shan't suffice but it will have to do.  stand
like a tree and not what you are, what might have been carried
away with a gust, what might have withered without a glance.

v.

some day, not today but soon, i will
bow - prone on the sonorous floor - and
lay down my respects, not in front of the empty
container but in front of your might.  in consideration of the weight i feel
in my hand (still not yet green?) when i clutch you, pull leaves off you,
shake you, the time and times you have asked for, understanding my compliance
for the command it was meant as, i will
answer and give you more space; more love; more.