Poetry in April -- in celebration
|Crouching on rickety knees,
I plant the black lustrous seed
in moist sand mixed with peat moss,
a piece of its outer covering removed
with an apology for peeling off
a corner of its secrets, expecting
it won’t fear life,
for I’ll watch it wake up,
an angel unfolding its wings
so persistent a green
when the sun will peek through the leaves.
So what, if I am forcing myself on hope
and this seed, perfect and holy,
at the threshold of sprouting?
Prompt: A threshold