He took a word, cutting it
carefully from the dictionary,
making sure the edges were
straight and aligned.
He took the word, holding it
gently in his hand, then buried
it as a seed, and waited until
it took root and sprouted.
The word grew. Empires rose
and fell, disappearing into dust
finer than white sand. A thousand
suns rose, set, and burned
themselves to cinders, as planets
journeyed in preordained orbits
until breaking free from gravity’s
pull, moving into darkness.
Still the word grew.
Still the root endured.
Photograph by Ian L via Public Domain Pictures. Used with permission.