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

Robert James Berry


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