here, take this poem of yours, bury it in the dirt.
tell no one. forget where, yourself.
maybe it will welcome wet threads, grow long whiskers,
someday, someday feed the world again.
unexpectedly. don’t explain.
where? under a flower pot. in a statues hand.
rolled up, laid out flat, folded, in a plastic envelope?
no, no signature, no name. the purest gift.
given away to the elements and to chance.
do you dare? no strings.
written in pencil, pen, maybe typed. you choose.
choose a poem saying something true, really true.
here are leaves from the tree of you.
maybe like butterflies, some take flight, some not.
first and only rule. let go.