spring’s trinkets, spies on me with bladed eye,
prods me with its creamy resurrection,
tells me how
Persephone stood root deep in mud,
loosening, until her eyes, worm chewed,
unleashed their hurdy gurdy,
insurgency of cracking eggs, erupting seeds
and earth thrown spears that break cold
symmetry, deride the discipline of hoar and rime,
a tyranny of rot and wrack. Persephone’s
in worn, cracked stone, a gift from spring’s asylum.
I’ll tear out it out, send it back,
weld ice to grief, curl in the sleep of beasts -
a gibbet hatching.
Photograph by Simon Wells
More of my poetry can be read on http://www.odyssey.com, http://www.chanticleer-press.com/, http://www.vivimusmag.com/poetry.html