the words will know where to go

let them go
out the backdoor
down the ravine
toward the highway

touch a grassy berm

still wet from last night

there's no propriety in any of this

if you think your words
are sacred
look for obscure translations

planting seeds you may be surprised

sometimes they stay hidden

the rain will cleanse

the text
you've spilled it all out
no apologies

go easy on the critics

     grow the garden

--- e b bortz