my seeds

mustard seeds popped about...
a kitchen floor
tells a story of 
what's cooking?

the essence of all that is,
ever was,
comes out
when it manifests
in the presence of a 
catalyst.

a poem is born
in the union of grammatical mistakes 
and poetic licenses.

seeds pop in my mind
when am cooking
thoughts peppered with feelings,
lost loves, and
willingly lost
petty mind games.

may i manifest as my poem,
with you, 
as my catalyst?