Garden poem

start from snakes and space moog flickering from molluscs film grain dust dancing on fossils emerge towards a new thing

an entirely new line:

time, a stretch of play created by collecting

birdsong and whale calls and rattles like shiny stones

giving shape to their breaths

measuring against our steps made on the ground

(the thrum is all we've ever known and will know to know now)

brash call of the beating heart drawing colour from the cave extracting tones from stalactite light flush with dark sky we stretch out to the garden

hapless but happy

someday this will be a poem

(grab your friends friends make the garden friends grow the flowers friends hold the tune)

(grab your friends friends make the garden

friends make the garden happy)