Stagnant seed. Yet
dynamic in its wisdom of the ages.

Weathered all, with every right to smugly eye us.
But it doesn’t.

Instead it whispers “watch me.”,
even though we would abide without its beckoning.

It destroys to create; it rips itself open,
exposing heart, spilling organs.
-to envelop itself with the soil neighbor.

It feeds and is fed. It could have greed,
but instead-

it tries year and year again to show us a miracle,
to have us read its knowledge.

… and some do try…

… and some just die…

never having believed in miracles
because they never saw one.