Haven

i
The road to haven is paved
with brand new second-hand sheets.

When we get there the magpies
will sing from the pines
in the cemetery behind the house,

and spirits will rest
beneath sunburned grass.


ii
The second life has cracked open.
Seeds puff out their feathery parachutes
and lift to the wind’s breath.

Not so much Genesis,
more a resurrection.

Propagation of dreams that have lain fallow
waiting for their season.