These copper seeds swelling with water and warmth.
These small explosions, the heave and shrug through soil,
twisting toward light, as fine-furred roots thrust down
and leaves fan open to heart mouths and tongue-flick
of water. In gray mist, fertile and fecund,
they rise. Fat heads wobble on thin necks, gasp, suck,
cry for rain, heat. What do they know of that place
hinted at through the plastic’s watery gaze?
As February, sunken, chalk-sky season,
crawls the blue-lipped land, they shudder, start, gulp air.
Photo By: Tilly Mint
