The Seeds of the Sycamore

to love the seeds of the sycamore

not because of the promise of sturdy wood

or ripened fruit and soaring shoots

to love the seeds only for their form

their supple crescent-shaped wings, gentle

to love their serene aspect

as they unwind and entwine

likewise

to love the timbre of people's voice

not because it has the leverage

to impose silence in a board meeting

but because of how it resonates

in their childhood bedroom

to love the clarity and wit of their thought

not because of how efficiently it could

distil an idea in a sales pitch

but because it can communicate

whatever made their spirit spark yesterday

to love the firmness and aspect of the seeds

not to love without the guide of fairness

to discard foul and deformed seeds

but to love the sycamore seed for its form at present

not tomorrow or in a hundred years

it can bear attributes of grandeur and prestige

that would make it tower and rise

but always to love it stripped of speculation

and of requests for actualisation

to love the seeds of the sycamore

not as an embryo

not as an act of faith

not as a vote of confidence

to love without demanding deliverables

to love the timid splendour of what is

to love the seeds of the sycamore