Along the ever-surging edge
of what’s alive,
There’s no time
for construction of a casing.
The growing tip is light and soft,
Ever moving into what it is becoming.
The story, the woody stem,
That which will uphold it
over future years
Will come later
in the established corridors
of nurture and support —
The long-stretched-out connection
between root and frond
But its identity,
Its form, its exaltation,
Its phototropic, geotropic
orientation,
The sensitivity, and the sensation,
Are most felt
in this newly forming green.
©Wendy Mulhern
April 26, 2013