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.