You go deep—
          roots into trunk into branches into oxygen—
so that stem cells of me
(more plant than human)
photosynthesize in your sunlit attention.
          All green with bud am I (gold with sap)
forming word before thought.
It is the constant speaking I crave, diamond-etched
on brow, this scroll I unroll how you hold
          history (all things) sustained.
Word made flesh made tree of life!
Choose this fruit.