your young, green life
hidden, for now, within warm glass
and soft black soil
will die
if He does not move it
if you do no brave
that outer world
where roots can stretch
and spines extend
if you do not stand
where storms abound
where wind whips up dirt
and memories
where birds come to feast
where weeds choke
and steal
this gentle light seems safe
but it will kill you all the same
your roots with nowhere to go
this box
too small for what’s blooming
the Gardener (who loves you)
will move you
at the proper time
and watch in awe
as you grow,
grow,
grow.