Hydroponically Speaking

to Sonja DiTore

One tends to enjoy it at first,

the absence of any soil, set free

to drift like clouds over daffodils.

But the sans souci fades as roots

reach out for what it freely supplied;

growth becomes aimless-lacking background-

and one soon learns what it is to live

without one's consent. The medium

brings no chlorosis or necrosis,

but yellowing of the spirit,

marginal numbness, a curling up

as if to prevent further losses.

The product of such a culture

has had no guide but the watery

star; shores have been strangers, and in all

its wanderings no one, no place

has meant more or less than it did time

T-zero, at the first flood, or what

it will grow to mean in the end.