TALKING TO THE PLANTS
Six years since I asked you to live
And all through, you’ve made the best
of cross-currents – salt air –
despite winters so cold
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.