On the Wayside

What's a weed but the
unwanted noise of another
man's music.

But beyond the margin,
that little strip of
uncultivated life
to the side of a
well-traveled road,

rank growth is my
splendor.

Everything needs a
place to be, and here,
even the weeds feel at home,

a free space where the trouble-
some have gathered together, un-

folding their own songs,
f l o w e r i n g

   in peace.