Relief 
Is a privileged blossom
Whose petals
Absorb little water 
From the vase which sits
Under windows 
Since assurance
Becomes each sun –

That position 
Avoiding all rain
But a human touch
Spilling drizzles 
Out of earthen pots 
Hailing showers 
For seeds 
Still sprouting their truth,

That sullen spout 
Shedding tears
Upon precious herbs 
Nearly budding
Before those leaves
Dry up slowly
Knowing shelter
Means staying inside 

And absorbing light 
Behind glass 
But observing growth 
From high dormers 
Above raw land 
Never thirsty 
Always wondering
How soil should feel. 

Every flower
Our safety ensures 
Means protecting life
From its freedoms 
When worlds outside 
Keep on changing
Despite what fear 
Cannot cure  – 

This reality 
Handed by God
Just to wither away
Along counters 
While morning sings
Far beyond them
Where nature demands 
Hanging vines.

• J. Pigno