These Black Seeds We Scatter
We do not want these cultured gardens,
staked and measured, laid out in stately lines,
well-drained gravel paths gently cambered
to subtle ditches dug at precise depths,
We are busy enough with these tall poppies,
with these tall poppies and their black seeds
we scatter religiously everywhere we travel.
We have enough in the tall poppies we always
leave behind to tatter in the wind, smear the air
as drying bloodstains, red and black against green.