She looks at the leaf 
Its serrated edges holding together 
A cosmos of possibilities 
Of alternate realities 
Of burgeoning opportunities 
She looks at a vein 
A cholorophyllated pathway of dreams 
A vital, verdant, emerald seam
Running like a stream 
From the heart of the leaf to one serrated edge

Nearest
To her wrist 

Where her own veins have seared a path
Specific, stark  
Chiseled from the magma of predestined fate
Pre-blessed, pre-set, per-fected
Once a rolling ocean of fluid dreams 
Now quiet, grief-stained, shadowy seams 
Of still water that never skips
Never dances, it stays gripped
Even as it drips
In the finite space of one blue-purple vein