GARDEN


        the cedar sways

        rain blots a petal of sand at my feet

        An ochre birthmark

        
        The image prints

        A white flesh rune

        in my freckle blue head

        
        At the roots of my fingers

        The knot stirs

        moves into the black thick fountainpen

        onto the page


        With this ink

        I irrigate my ochre children

        
        My cedar grows strong


        I shall carve it like a totem