That Tiny Seed

That tiny seed
in the garden of your being
plants itself
in a corner where you might not notice it.

Unplagued by your thousand obligations,
it gathers moisture unused by your arid life.

On that internal table,
its petals open to a visceral sun.

You can feel the flutter
feel its opening
and see it in your
dreams perhaps
or in a daydream, as a reflection in a shop window.

What you are inside of you
is something you should feel the wings of,
smell its faint aroma, be at least a bit discomfited
by that tiny annoying growth of petal
that is a message from yourself.

Sign language.
If you don’t listen,
it will whisper.
Then it will shout.

The prompt today is visceral.