a time to rend, a time to sew
I hid in winter. I buried my weeping before start of day. I skulked and warbled from the closing thicket. I said, ‘rags of skin shed from a full moon’. By new spring, jackdaws flew across my path. Daybreak dragged off curtain and comforts. We waked longer. We sang longer. Still more light came. Nowadays, my eyes are dry at dawn. Starlings call from chimneys. This morning, as I walked out for work, I judged it neither first light, nor already too late. On the path, I saw pieces torn from a pomegranate.
