There is a sound

Between the rustle of leaves

Before the breeze

Comes tickling

There is a sound

It is slight

The heartbeat of the plant

Life humming through its veins

A flower plucked

In the moments after

Remains attached

In consciousness

It lives in the vase

For a day

Perhaps two

Before it’s pulse fades

And it longs for its roots

15 thoughts on “Homesick

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