Seeds

I pretend that everything here
is grown of my hand.

When I walk home, sifting the
seeds like beads through my fingers.
Dock leaf or tall grass, tip dipped
in lilac and silver

Little blue-bottle wing
or amethyst grain
I have grown with you.

Then sewn along the roadside
like I’m planting lemon trees
I star the dry earth with you

Two words with rain under.
Two words of light?

We will learn to balance one day
opening and closing against the wall
as clematis.

Miss you
still I ache, planting again
precious stone and thin wing

With steely forwardness.
Watch them

Fall from my grip
and I do not know how they
grow again each time.

We’ll understand blooming
and the sepia drop away
soon enough I hope, tonguing two words

Drowned in lightness
I have always been fluid
gold.

Always breathed water

Too bad
miss you now

And then again.

Next year I’ll ask
if any are mine yet.