wide to the horizon
the open field stretches
in every direction
offering a space for growth

will green sprout from this dust?
the sun beats down a warning
don’t grow, you will suffer, it says
but the sky thinks differently

rain soothes the earth
and life that had rested beneath
and waited its time
will push up, here, there, in small scrubs:
blackthorn, thistles, bracken and gorse

what is this? you say
astounded at the cheek of nature
it is what is there, comes the answer,
what you tried, died
and in its stead I have given back
what my earth wants