Poetry & Prose

The Buried

ῥιζοῦσθαι1 the snag avows in winter,
bare neath the limelight,
withdraws and
into the vast
Plutonian clay:
weaving, folding, waiting.

As blind machines sink
into the bowels
of convictions—
feasting to excrete,
wresting the breath that sprouts
and rotting gardens to come—
see the buried,
digesting earth
into humus for the next age:
they who know not yet what they are.

1rhizousthai: “take root” in Ancient Greek and among the earliest origins of the English rhizome