I brush past the reedy bush
outside my home, and it leaves
tiny seeds clinging to my dress.
This is a natural thing;
evolutionary design.
A focus on touch as a means
of disseminating self.
I am reminded now that the human
is a natural thing too,
no matter how we kick and scream
against the fact,
and must partake in this
same haphazard act.
Each joke we tell,
each story,
each press of hand to another’s arm,
we are leaving seeds in our wake.
Kernels that may grow or rot
with equal likelihood.