How rivers and stones are forever
in allegiance with gravity
while we ourselves dream of rising.
—Mary Oliver

If I must pledge,
let me do so while standing,
not with hand over heart,

but outside amid the greening,
gawking again at the show-off
hollyhocks rising like

full-skirted towers from
last season’s leavings. I whack
them to the ground each fall,

and they insist on returning.
Talk about allegiance.
Their pledge must drive

their exploding seeds out
of spent pods into the earth
with a teeny timer inside

that lets them know when
to do all that underground work
to start pushing toward

the sun. That’s how I want
to commit myself, quietly
going about the everyday-ness

of every day, growing in the dark,
looking for light, but mindful
of when it’s time to rest,

to dig in, to recharge
for the moments when
the call comes

to start all over again.