Robert Simpkins
The vibrant fruit
Strawberry in a hand
Rises in an acoustic land
Scatters seeds that fall,
With imperceptible sound
In their arc towards the ground
The slender towersSewn in pale stone earth,Crest in the orchestra of morning
Green, and spawningA garden cast in light
Bright petals terraforming
The house and the home
Architectures of scent unknown,
To a silent hum, a warming phone
Life half livedIn an arm around absence
A dawn chorus, for a solitary ear
Hearing the evening draw in
Berries breathing out
The day done, the night near
Time strewn in sleep
Scattering seeds falling upwards
Arcing to the sky, the moonlit frontier
Pearls drifting in the sheer sea
Across half the worldRibbon tails of a memory shower
Onto magnolia and soil
Rain cultivating a dampened recallOf strawberries in a hand, empty space in another