"As Above"
When white oak seedlings bloom
in the gutters, I leave them alone:
hapless new lives, nowhere
to lay down roots, nowhere
to go but up toward heaven.
Still, I dream one morning
I might wake to find
tendrils snaking through
AC vents to caress my cheek
as thanks for the reprieve—
or to remind me of just how
far from the sun I dwell.
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