TSM 125

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
harrows a shadow
its vole
darts across the path
in front of me
returns the favor
of surviving another day

The Sunday Muse

11 thoughts on “TSM 125

  1. 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



  2. “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.

    Liked by 1 person

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