You want your words to be like the tops of trees
that rise from meadows and rest dark and sharp
against the sky. You want them to draw life
from the rain and that rich carpet of soil,
suck up meaning and metaphor, and blossom
into lines dripping with suggestion.
Each branch, each leaf, a line
that rises and spreads.
All the roots busting up rocks in the dirt below.
It’s the persistence of it all that draws you—
the nuance of substance and sunlight
on one small patch of raw earth.