Ostara

 My spring ritual, the forking and turning
Of good brown earth; the marveling
At the myriad creatures therein,
Moist membranes, glistening carapaces;

The green blessing of onion spears,
And the generosity of kale
Filling the hungry gap;

The wonder of the mundane miracle
Of life – building cell by cell,
An alchemy of air, rain, soil and light,
The most prosaic transfiguration.

My hands are work-dry
And I ache
But these raw March nights
Are full of stars.

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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