“”The army of flowers answers the call of its queen” so that floral life may triumph over accursed life.” (Bachelard, Poetic Reverie; 40)
 
Why must I be the river twisting around your banks
The flow above and below your pebbles
The petals circling your seed fiilled center
The vines crawling up your wall
The waves crashing against your
endlessly
stubborn
shore
I must adapt around your curves
and bumps
and dark crevices
and inconsistencies
and terrible words
You demand liquid form to be with you
Give up my solid form for streams
wind swept petals
crashing waterfalls
silently churning rivers
Why wont you move for me?