by animalworkss

With whatever field I create, it knows no bounds,
Though it be bound and gagged by my whims
It is tended quite tenderly
“Hush land, for the blight’s almost through”
As over and over it toils with but these two
Fabled hands to care for its shaping;
Sharp, ravenous makings of minerals,
Bare and essential, or so in it the body finds
That which aligns with its tales run asunder
And blundering towards climatic ends of growth-
May I one day reap alongside my sowing
And mending in a manner quite befitting the pragmatic
In that my problems will dissolve amongst themselves
Amidst that which bore and entangled their Being in possibility



Copyright Keli Birchfield 2013