Pomegranate and pale green leaves
shimmer their bean shapes on the brick
wall, anchored by ancient stems twisted
like rage. They beat out an endless
message of “look at me” and true, it is
impossible to look away.
Other leaves broad, webbed, open
palms in mid-slap shiver on each side
of the road. The fanned branches
capture an engaging light, an easing
of the sun into its horizon.
All the miracles that haven’t healed me
are off the bus. All I have to do is
step down and breathe. Help me.