Inklings*

Time to question the seed ghosts

Sleeping hosts subsurface

Eidolon dreams of a greening

Phantoms of the cracks

Viridian throng, verdant urgency

Their public transport

Moth wings, magpie backs, hare feet

On train tracks, window ledges, under tunnels

Singing where,

Where do we belong? 

Abandoned nests and clefts and

Pondering ascendant

Clockwise omens of the still moon’s silent wax

Felt in Eukaryote urges

Blind blanket longings to burst

And stretch siege ladders

To interrupt concrete creep

Our mortal foundations disturb

Tendrils grasping, seeking southern purchase

Pending, imminent growth in the offing

Anything to cradle roots

Rear old heads

Moor the marooned mass of longing