A Song for Seeds


Now is the time

of sharp bird bones,

of the rustling ghosts

of last year’s leaves.


Now is a time silvered

slick—only a trick

of moonlight and frost.


Now, pink sky

and berries stain

the snowscape.


Know that blood rushes

beneath this cold. Each

seed follows

its trail of breadcrumbs


through hard

light to darkness

to something

unimagined: the self

cracked open. One day,



you will remember

this time as sleep.

One day, you will

live, not as tooth, but

as velvet, green

and growing.


One day, you will feel

quite ready to shrug

out of yourself. Believe,

then, in the warm

light you seek.


You must have

faith. You must have faith

and luck.


(from Within/Without, 2005)