I found you again in the winter,
huddled amongst carrion
and flood;

knees tucked neat
into the window frame,
thoughts brooding over mire.

Your discerning gaze was
rooted beside stream and bud,
weening harvest grain
from tenacious sod.

Fastened to,
we tilled the silted ears
with bladed dream-song
and quickening wisps.


By Laura Benn