Sunday, February 7, 2016


 ‘Das Angenehme dieser Welt hab’ ich genossen’


Don’t rely on another time of year.
It is now. Moss on the rough bark
of a wingnut tree says ‘north, north’
and the supplanted dead on their side

of the Ammer chew over the thirst of roots:
their sublingual gasp, their spread; suction.
All that has been drawn – materia medica
from the graveyard-made-botanical-garden

is filed away somewhere in this town,
seedbank of the Green movement,
the left wing struggling to lift from
its muddy tomb, flash its bright feathers.

            John Kinsella

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