Today I freed a black-eyed Susan
from a vine.

The slight tendril twisted about
the flower’s stalk, bending the plant
in a long, dreary arch toward the ground.

It is a small thing, to set a flower free.
In the great cycle of a forest’s growth
and decay, I do not know if it matters.

I do know this black-eyed Susan
now feels the sun on its face 
instead of its back, 

it no longer hovers over 
brown leaf litter but 
bobs under the blue of the sky.

And for this moment, my 
breath comes easy.