Between the cracks of the sidewalk catches
the brown and white detritus of cottonwood.
How useless it looks, the fluff now ratty,
the stems bent and broken. No one takes notice
of it, no one stops to take their pictures
with the waste of seeds that will never make trees.
All the cracks of the world, how they gather
the unwanted, hold with no judgment,
make a home for what is lowly, what drifts.
The cracks, how they keep things whole.