I press feathers and bits of bone into the earth like seeds like teeth thinking gestures of futility might bloom into foxwomb or begonia eyes but only wormwood will grow a magic flute from my ribs thin as a reed and hollow the chunk of spade in earth from my Mr. McGregor shovel harrows a shadow its vole darts across the path in front of me returns the favor of surviving another day
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qbit 
I love the particular words that make this poem sing, like the feathers and bits of bone, the flute “thin as a reed and hollow”. Just wonderful.
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Thank you!
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Yes, and ‘shovel / harrows a shadow’ is also very good.
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Sowing and reaping are cautious equations.. Luv your imagery, Luv the reality of contentment and the shine of hope. Stay safe.
Thanks for your visit to my blog
Much💛love
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This played out in my mind and I love when poems have the ability to transport me ~~ bravo.
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Thank you!!!
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Every line is gorgeous in this amazing poem Qbit! A new favorite for me of yours!
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Oh wow! Appreciate so much!
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“but only wormwood will grow …” I’ve only seen wormwood in photos as it doesn’t grow in the places where I have lived. I do have a Mr. McGregor shovel and a spade, they both have helped me a lot.
..
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Thanks for the nudge cos I really love this, qbit! Don’t know how I missed it.
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Thanks! It went up late on Monday, well past the Muse’s bedtime.
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