So Below
poems by Noel Sloboda and
original prints by Alicia Paolucci

"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.