It took me a while to clean the heap of heart
shapes from their whorls; an hour of nimble
fingers, easy thoughts, to separate each nub
of new bio-code away from its edam-hold. You
should’ve seen them: so red, so plump, flesh-
veiled nuggets ready for sowing, to refigure
bared clays or sands of the country’s eastern
rim. Rich and promising like the flowerings
of Emily’s dump dot creations from the centre.
Young seeds dispatched too early by rainbow
parrots, lay matting the ground in a buff haze.
Apart from birds, I disturbed a few moths,
one pale spider and three larvae. I don’t know
what could’ve been more fruitful then, than to
reach for those branches to harvest their seeds.