The Deep Pull

The trowel went down,

met rock, then gave.

A stubborn brown

mass, I tried to save

the plant, but this.

This was its engine,

a knot of Genesis,

a dark intention.

I pulled, it stretched,

a slow, deep sigh.

The earth was etched

with where it used to lie.

It snapped, a wet crack,

pale core, a clean break,

but bits of it stayed back,

a promise it would make

itself again, somehow,

from broken white.

The dirt still clinging now,

a dull, persistent light.