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 towers
Sewn in pale stone earth,
Crest in the orchestra of morning

Green, and spawning
A 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 lived
In 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 world
Ribbon tails of a memory shower

Onto magnolia and soil

Rain cultivating a dampened recall
Of strawberries in a hand, empty space in another

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