Photosynthesis

                             

                                                                                                                    for eb

Who knew leaves could land like this. Twin silhouettes 

on wet pavement. Half a century of travel to meet again,
sisters. Water and sap through veins.

Decades of San Joaquin Valley orchards of orange

fed by concrete aqueducts. Leafless hedges like 
oversized bonsai in the hundred degree heat.

 

But then, under San Francisco Bay’s sky

eucalyptus scent so heady it’s medicinal, this arrival

on spindly fronds. Your familiar intonation.

 

Such root pressure and photosynthesis, this rush 

toward one another and countless years of 

understanding. Sun prints of snowy white on indigo paper.

A piñon sprig that hosts the edible nut 

buried in thick coffee-colored skin, cracked open.

 

Rainfall conversation. 

Geography no hindrance.

Just the mention of your name.