Who Will Plant the Seeds of Svalbard
as far north you go as night you go night your green selves sent
shelved in cold boxes as night you go dream your love of the sun
so small in the spring as night you go stars nothing sings in no sunlight
bereave the green blade its love of the sun its small in the spring
it begins with a hunger a seed sent north where white-smocked and skillful
with intimate brushes with intimate cleaning imperfectly cold impermanent frost
no wisdom in skill to sequence your secrets in hope for the body in patented weather
to be any new creature so small in the spring nothing answers in no sunlight
kept in a cold not cold enough to keep in isolation bears no fruit
as night you go dream a dream of the heat a yes and a no a we and alone
imperfectly cold shelved in cold boxes lengthened in rows once quick
enough to wake to hold your own in newly opened light it’s time to be among the last
catalogued sequenced sequenced remote nothing sings in no sunlight
as far north you go as night you go night to sleep apart a thousand years
who drinks to the cold to seeds ex situ in where fertile ground any pollinate green
catalogued exiled exiled remote go ask the green blade what keeps
asleep a thousand years if sunlight go orchard if lengthened in rows
if released into windblown if wakes to what world
Orchard Fruit: Grafting
see the scar where the new limb starts there is always a scar
this is how it begins it begins with a question what happens in time
a hand takes a knife cuts toward cuts away peaches breathe
into apricots what happens in spring a new limb starts
in always an orchard in so human a lifetime a quiet hour to be filled
light passes through leaves peaches breathe into apricots wind sighs all over
a why and tomorrow a sometimes I am the budwood the rootstock
the orchard the new fruit apricot apricot cambium knife
to be considered whole one must allow for damage for skill in bandaging
where a new limb starts a new fruit starting one I’ve never tasted
a why and tomorrow a part and a whole budwood rootstock stonefruit breath
spring happens in time something possible happens it begins with a hunger
a new fruit starting light passes through leaves grafted skillfull bandaged peach
cut towards cut away tomorrow I am a quiet hour to be filled
to be considered whole and beautiful to be here where a new limb starts
there is always a scar future nectar sunlight blight in so human an orchard
