Symbiosis at the Greenhouse Cafe

Tim Lockman

I feed these plants

with my breath

and their breathing

feeds me.

A silent exchange

between their leaves

and the trees of my lungs,

cell to cell,

in a language older than words,

older than sound.

The plants in my house always die

but these are green,

stretching their arms toward the windows,

toward the light,

and I am stretching myself

toward them.

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