I will consider the lilies; I will consider the ferns. I will consider the fragrant ragged edged weeds that bloom with delicate purple stars. I will consider the wild ginger root that brightens the mind and cleans the teeth. I will consider the earthy-tasting richness of the stinging nettle, once it has been blanched in boiling water. I will consider the dizzy cabbage moth wheeling in ecstasy over swaying blossoms. I will consider the plantain weed with its parallel veins: chewed into a poultice, it siphons away bee sting. And I have proven this. And consider it. I will consider long grasses and spongy mosses, layers of generations of trees both standing and fallen, falling water, trickling water, misting, foggy, frozen, shimmering, ebbing and flowing water, always rising and always falling. I will consider the ruffling layers of stony oyster shells and the curving worms that shelter beneath them at low tide. I will consider the scuttling claws and waving tentacles, the slimy and bony mounds of trembling life washed by the sea in its heaving rhythm. And I will be rich and will not be poor, though the city would deem me so. I will be rich and eat dandelion greens. I will be rich and bathe in gold, when that gold is post-rain sun.