The Still Wait of the Slumbering Seed

In a dark wooden drawer,
among scattered threads and memories,
lies a seed, small and pure,
unaware of green futures.
It sleeps in time without measure,
a secret yet untold,
a design for life to come,
from the warm darkness, never roused.

No kiss of rain brushes it by,
nor caress of wind or sun,
only the still air that resides
among silent scraps and words.
But deep inside, an energy nests,
a whisper of root and stalk,
a strength that does not diminish,
like a tiny, perfect sky.

It is a universe in slumbering shell,
a mute destiny, only in potential,
the memory of an infinite field
and the challenge of every latency.
An interruption, a slow breath,
of what could be green,
in its immobile and patient silence,
that never hurries nor gets lost.