( Inspired by an old Slavic folksong)
I will gather rocks from the ruin
to restore the flame’s hearth, the water’s well.
I will breathe in wind from the pines
and unlock the rusted gate. Its field sparse
but meant for gardening. The gypsy seeds
resettled, content. And soon –.
fine roots will sprawl. The radish bell
will blossom in our bones. its crisp peal
making you crave – something new yet native.,
a partnership, a home, a soul.