Seed Potatoes

We buried them in shallow graves,
eyes up, under leaves and compost.

Now come the rains, filtering
to their faces, reverse tears, you say.

If only we could drink in the sky
and make our own starchy joy.


Reality is a complex system of complex systems of complex systems irreducible to neat metaphor

She runs down the slope into the greenhouse and pulls the door behind her with one fluid gesture, a blind demi-pirouette. Click of latch. Warm moist air on her flushed cheeks. On the surface of her eyeballs. Breathe. Breathe. Life should not be a battlefield. Life should be a garden.