In My Soil

My body is not empty with an embryo hidden beneath my skin - in my womb. The path of my veins is not a dead end, with the surging of a river that from the chamber of my heart pours into the seed of the sea’s heart; it pours, returns, toward my heart, with the song of the fishes with the song of wondrous plants growing in the depths ... My body is not empty - an empty nest, flown from its embrace, the companion mate flown from its embrace, the chicks of tomorrow. – A host of singing swallows among the maple leaves have raised a clamour: they circle, pick up seeds, build nests, they sing they sing; among the leaves of the maple tree that all through the winter month trembled trembled from leaflessness. My body is not empty with your root which you have hidden in my soil; with the flock of swallows to come with the song of the fishes with the song of wondrous fruitful plants in the depths ...