This poem was seeded a while earlier, it was the earthworms on the garden path that inspired it, having crawled out of the waterlogged grass. It had rained prior and they placed themselves in harm’s way, a sign we would interpret as foolish (given the worm carcasses all over) and they would consider survival, crossing those great divides between the edges of a winding path.
Seasonal exhalation of Neptune's mists / and hazy corruptions mar a loamy sequester / A twelfth house of sorrow / those sinuous burrows permeating clay thought / tortuous tunnelling of annelid aspirations //
Earth swallowed rain / spiriting a life vitality from the blanketing comfort of flooded blossoms / Engraved on a path by the trample of feet, massacre of an exodus / Martyrs to tyrants / clearly, mist is love or hate or mishap //
Compassion buoys pensive thought or a floating reflection / There are puddles of clumped rain, streaks of blemished sun / Blossoms and buds / These euphemisms of Spring, but trees in a mating game / Summer will bring tender warmth to soft mud, clear dreams and sweet healing //