these leaves had roots once.
this sheaf was a forest
(or a tree)
and birds nested
in its branches,
squirrels cannoned
from limb to limb
with death-defying grace.
these pages were planted
once, tender saplings
guarded with care
by a shepherd
of the pines,
trained and trimmed
to grow straight
as an arrow
toward heaven,
that one day they
might be sacrificed
for our benefit.
and now these leaves
bear roots once more,
words planted in
imagination’s soil
to grow toward
every heart who dares
to turn the pages.
these pages hold seeds,
that perhaps one day
they may find their way
into fertile earth again,
and we may grow
straight and true
toward heaven.
