Here is another poem from the archives, part hallucination, part wish, part prediction, on what it might be to not only shift attitude and perspective, but to become a plant.
My burning tongue bears a bloom
A vulgar orange tiger lily
Fleshy and vibrant
Its thick pollen coats my throat
Seeps through my pores
My fingers fine and green
They will be leaves
I waver in the wind
Naked my roots
Determined crawling
With desperate and vital force
Towards a place where they will
Surely drive into the earth
Shorn of shoes they were feet
And those eyes I had
No longer see
But stare in blank worship
At the sun
I am growing fuller
I am forgetting
And letting go
Green green green I grow