(for Don DeVorss)

The man with the donated heart that
powers him in his second life tells me,

Succulents are survivors,
and I say, Like you.

And he grins, the once-upon-a-time
boy who rode the same bus as I

to our rural elementary school,
the one who played basketball

at our high school as I directed
the pep band at home games,

the two of us separated for decades,
friends again in our late years.

The man with the donated heart
nurtures succulents at home,

has worked with plants all his
adult life, who, like the tender

growing things he tends, is
a powerful survivor. He gives me

three precious specimens in
gorgeous pots—each an exquisite

living sculpture—and I drive them
home as if I have infants in the car,

aware of their fragile beauty, their
inherent toughness I cannot see,

grateful for the gift of trust from
the man who carries the beating

heart of another in his strong body,
one that matches his generous soul.

•••

With thanks to Don and Julie DeVorss for the gift of the lovely succulents!