When at last I join the democracy of dirt,
a tussock earthed over and grass healed,
I’ll gladly conspire in my own diminishment.
Let a pink peony bloom from my chest
and may it be visited by a charm of bees,
who will then carry the talcum of pollen
and nectar of clover to the grove where they hive.
Let the honey they make be broken
from comb, and release from its golden hold,
onto some animal tongue, my soul.
From: Fleury, Amy, Sympathetic Magic, 2013, Crab Orchard Review & Southern Illinois University Press: Carbondale and Edwardsville, p. 63.
(https://books.google.com.au/books?id=YvqgrzRK_goC)
Date: 2013
By: Amy Fleury (1970- )
From Troubles of The World 
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