Poetry

On a spring day

Her name is made of leaves

as she cups the sun in her hands

and turns it into golden liquid, elixir

blood, life.

Her face is of soil, is of water,

drawing, drawing

until her heart turns green, then red

and erupts

for the bees to collect.

Her pieces fill their baskets

and they spread her fingers everywhere.

Sparks for everything she touches.

 

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Poetry

Roots

Fingers digging,

the earth

close and warm.

Reaching, reaching,

ever downwards

whilst standing

high.

A beard full

of petals,

gathering golden

tears from the sun.