Crabgrass

That I was planted as
Crabgrass during a perfect
Monsoon, straight south of the
Eternal capitol and
Bending into a green
Ache, in tune to the perfect
Music or truth, but, stupidly,
Sad, at the occasion
Of my planting, of
Wind and at random.

And, that I tried to earn
The earth’s justice, her warmth
And weight. That, I came

Under your true field, with
A quiet valued
As stealth, and I riddled
Your familiar blanket, even as the lilies
Dismissed mine as an unjust
Swampland, thick with fever
And carbons and bad-livered
Soliloquies, that
Tested, with poisons,
The patience of water, and
The patience of air.

And so it is
That I am and remain
Underfoot, and suited
Thus, I could carpet
Your march toward Avalon
And beyond, absent
Pedigree and crunch,
Just a way and
A layer of truth,
A passage, of imperfect
Planting, of a matted,Blue duty.