Poems

 

I have tucked small seeds

Into bed, covered them in blankets

Of odorous soil, compost and burnt earth.

On bent knees I watch, wondering

Where the longing for life throbs fiercest –

The slumbering raw-red interior,

The fulsome soil or my heart that beats

With such terrible tenderness

Knowing too well that upon the sprouting

Of a single seed, a whole world turns.

 

Small ones, I only wish for you

To find your place in the world,

Grow tall and in your turn, let fall

White winged seeds. For I, too,

Have stood drinking in sunlight

Like golden wine flowing through

The wounded places, while angels

Whirred round me, to bring me home.

 

 

 

 

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