Itself, lips

high off the ground.

Answer twice and then

no more.

Retreat, understand

all the world is a grave

and still, sprouting.

This journey, this climb

collecting the many shades

of intertwining foliage.

Half-moon is enough moon

to see. Dump yard turns

into a mouse’s home, a place

to raise her offspring, find food,

with many secure hiding holes.

Flesh is a revelation,

is the end result of pure spirit


Tomorrow we will know why

today we feel lacking

when we find our watering-hole,

a reservoir garden, glorious labour,




Copyright © 2022 by Allison Grayhurst



First published in “Across The Margin” July 2022



You can listen to the poem by clicking below:


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