Digging Deep

 

It's clay and clings, this earth,
chopped, shaped. It lies
in lumps where weeds decay
and garden debris burns.
New soil fills the hollow
now, strong for flower
after leaf down where roots
keep, distant from air,
where future shoots probe safe.

Race over the lawn, scrap
game away, stopped by
a bite of balled geranium,
your daughters argue above
tough docks growing, son’s
eyes aslant of grasslings
shivering resilient
on that clot of clumps
long in our sight.