Having been watered,
they might grow.
Rupture the soft lie
of silk and mahogany,
the sullen concrete casings,
and emerge
in the bardo of possibility,
small imperfect seeds
feeling again the tug
of the sun.
Having been watered,
they might grow.
Rupture the soft lie
of silk and mahogany,
the sullen concrete casings,
and emerge
in the bardo of possibility,
small imperfect seeds
feeling again the tug
of the sun.
Meditatio Ephemera 
makes me hopeful, Cate
of coming back
as a flower 🙂
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Evidence of past lives well lived, I’d say, David. 🙂
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Isn’t* that the truth …
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Is that the truth, Rafiki. I have seen the dead sprinkled regularly here in SW Kansas. Not in England though … nature takes care of it there.
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We like our cemeteries green! More generally, we like death as pretty and peaceful appearing as possible. I am grateful, though, for the cool and pastoral place to walk.
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