I.

a sprout presses
against eggshell.

quivering
unfurls the plumule:
rooting into loam,
gasping into sky,
fragile.

II.

starved of nutrient,
winter confines us.

until spring
we are gnashing teeth,
asthmatic lungs,
the frozen landscape
in its permanence.

III.

a sprout presses, starved of nutrient, against eggshell.
winter confines us, quivering, until spring
unfurls the plumule: we are gnashing teeth
rooting into loam, asthmatic lungs
gasping into sky, the frozen landscape
fragile in its permanence.

Penned by my hand on the 11th of Mayan, in the year 941 AF.