Sharlyn Page Mount Dora (Jim Steele)
The Ripening When early from the infinite, I chose the twig that touched the sky Hearkened to a sound first heard from topmost leaf, sussurrant word, It was the sky-tolled call of home, and recognition rustled down the bone. Then my body in a seeding race became Earth's transient spawning place, Life called out, hoarse from earth, the rounded body insisted birth, As suckling newborns, wet and red, force surrender to this self-made bed. Here below are voiceless gardens, seedlings faint for thirst, I rise to bring the water, stoop to raise the earth. Granted a god inchoate to hold, mute till touch is voice, I learn the need to feed at root, oblique to choice. |
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