Ode To A Twig Of Pine

Confined in a vase, in an element not of its own,
With each orbital movement, intermittent light and dark,
This twig of pine of a deep, healthy, intense green,
It is growing, progressively extending its tiny roots,
Preparing itself for the richness of the fertile soil:
Within its essence, —preparing itself to become a tree.

Will it continue to thrive out of its earthy element?
In this small amount of water, I still wonder…
We two share an intimacy, a similarity of situation:
We are both in a surviving state, in a constant wait:
We are waiting to become trees, with wooden roots,
Instead of these white fibrous textures, frailly floating.

I am its caring gardener, hoping for my gardener
To plant me in his heart, —that we may grow in love:
Nurturing and nourishing each other with tenderness,
Delighting in our spiritual development, by love united:
That our roots may grow deep, and our souls soar high,
Embracing in our hearts the mysteries of the sky.

Refreshing coniferous-resin, spicy sylvan rosemary!
Oxygenating life with potentiality and longevity:
Pineal fruit of wisdom and rising to Enlightenment,
Cornucopia within the infinity of knowledge,
Unfolding Fibonacci’s mathematical perfection!
The Eye of the Universe, in its simplicity—here, in my vase!