Is this how the seed feels in the ground
after first rain?
Is this how the lacquered bean,
with its polished skin,
feels after its first drenching?

Is this how the dicotyledon feels
swelling inside its tight black skin?
holding itself in as long as it can;
afraid, almost, to burst its perfect corset
of loneliness?

Is this how it feels as the two little halves
swell with disbelief, soften, split to disgorge
the pointed green tongue of growth;
tearing, at last, the japanned, the varnished
husk?

Is this how it feels when the pointed tongue
finally expels itself
with a will for life,
for upwards,
spreading the wings of the seed east and west,
as the proud little shoot
climbs skyward, sunwards,
engorging itself on sunlight...
intoxicated on chlorophyll, at last...

soaring, now, soaring,
the wings now
unfolding green,embryonic leaves,
and the discarded husk
now an empty shell clinging, unneeded,
to the stretching neck of the stem-
unrecognized,
an empty rag of what-used-to-be,
a discarded little pouch of what's-yet-to-come.