In its cloaked or muddy-striped clarity
Occluded or shining through the lacework
It is the warmth and the alien chilliness
Of astounding starflowers, juicy fat red poppies
With black eyes and blue pollen,
It is a birth painted with words
Or loss clad in sorrow’s leaves.
It is how to heal
How to speak and how to be still
Allowing the core to be plunged into clear water
Beating and turning like a fire-clock
In darkness, a man is speaking
To
A woman stepping into the light.
Advertisements
