the walk
began
downhill
still on a sidewalk
veered under
an overpass and then again
up,
cobbled, asphalt.
Old shoulders.
Cinders pocked
with rubbish.
Without a destination
other than to surprise the eye
I pass plants
called wayward
or weed.
Calla palustris
Wild tobacco
growing
without gardens,
unbound.
In neighborhoods around them,
caverned stumps
clotted with bumble bees
knees white with pollen.
Persian ivy
bristled bare where rusted fence intersects pole and stone -
these all wrapping land that began cultivation centuries ago.
I know each earthen plot on earth has a story.
Common milk thistle
Knapweed
and thistle again
wherever a home once was.
Groundsel swallowing lawns and pasture.
Woad and weld,
close by, dyers plants,
forgotten.
Swedish ivy
strangling pear,
past fruiting.
Scrambling gromwell
blue motes
navel wort,
old stones.
plangent too
you
returning home
uttering
"everything".
