Tom Nettles

High in the concrete jungle canopy
A series of flowers tugs on a single rotted tree
A storm breaks the rotted tree,
And the flowers cling onto a single rotted sliver

They fall,
Down and down
One jolt—can scatter and drown
The family tree

So the flowers cling to together.
None with protective leaves
None see the sun’s light
And none draw from their roots ancestral strength

In the polluted dust of home
Or amongst domestic plants parasitic
White flowers wind tight in home
The sinking corpse that flows
Onward and downstream

The river gives nothing back
To drifting foundations weakened	

So those flowers, with knotted roots 
Come undone, their ties broken
Too painful to renew
Too scraped and splintered to try

But one flower holds the others together
Knots do strangle its roots,
And without soil or care, they starve
But they do not break

Other flowers, not so strange,
Brush close from shore
But the strangled tree must drift
So they come
And they go

Graceful ones with unblemished petals
Thick leaved ones that don’t get burned
Strong ones with roots so deep
No wind or flood can uproot or unsettle them

These still plants brush against
The flower that never could touch the earth
The one with roots extended,
It could reach a little farther if only it stopped
Forcing crumbling bone together

Stable plants too slip out of contact
Gripped tight or gently brushing
Those plants cannot hold
While the river drags on
The dead log and pale flowers clinging to it
Drift on