tagNon-Erotic PoetryWatching the seed migration, St Luk

Watching the seed migration, St Luk


The seeds are flying
today. I can hear their
propellers whirring in the
morning breeze, teasing

the hoses too weak to catch
them in their bronze jaws;
hissing as they lift off. Signs
are planted like landmines

in the loam; lighting up like
searchlights as they fall into
their nests. We will never watch
them rise, that I know.

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