today, this everyday, I split my cup
between alfalfa, bay leaf, soy bean sprouts,
and wonder what I'm worried will dry out
first — these vegetal daydreams turning up
their palms, or all the hands I have not held
in months, the voices gone unheard. it's hard
to branch beyond these walls, to give regard
to life in other plots I have not dwelled
awhile. but sharing drinks with plants, I learn
that radical just means to start with roots —
so I draft letters I will someday send,
sow plans for picnics, birthdays, and return
airfare. I lean into the little fruit
I grow, into this tendency to tend.