TALKING TO THE PLANTS
Six years since I asked you to live
and all through you’ve made the best
of cross-currents and cold salt air
despite winters when
I half expect to see your breath.
Six months on from last year’s summer
and the short days have stretched
but now this slowing, closing in
despite warm days when
I never expect the coldness of death.
your roots wrapped round
into hardened matted entrails
ready for more space
crock, compost, water, shade.
Then I’ll settle in too, on the ground
with you, waiting
until: struck with a stick,
the terracotta makes a ringing sound
calling for more water.