for Bill and Ben
On a normal day,
you’d see my stalk quiver
towards the moss-free flowerpots
which I live behind.
But underneath, there’s the legful haze
of my crazy roots encountering
worms. The furious tingle,
of spread-eagling round bricks
and buried stones oval and sea-formed
in perfection – my treasure.
My ambition? To travel.
I want to laugh
my whispery name
down your drainpipe,
to echo and boom when you
turn on your taps.
To slowly drive my legs
through rich earth,
letting a hunch of gathered snails
clatter from my leaves.