Gifted Roots

The calendar chews the days, tearing them from time’s grasp.
a handful of hours lies on the ground, like winter ash.
between the pages, breath breaks and then ignites anew.
the house holds the void between yesterday and tomorrow.
from stolen moments, the roots of unborn dreams feed themselves.
they receive hours that will never see the sun’s light.
underground, the sprouts learn the taste of silence.
the sap becomes memory of what has not been.
the imaginary tree stretches its branches toward a sky that does not exist.
the knots of the earth count the days that will not be extinguished.
undergrass breathes the promise of a silent spring.
every root grows, nourishing the absence that remains.
if one day time returned the stolen days,
perhaps the new trees would remember never having been born.
meanwhile, the calendar remains caressing the forest’s shadow.
and the forest writes its history of roots into the soil.