Lying Fallow


I lie, pale brown
with a morning frost

encrusting me,
a fallow field

of everyday earth,
recovering

from the multiple births of this hard won year.

The visible skin
nobbly, hard
has a still, wintry mist kissing.

Underneath, in my softer soil
worms thread and ravel
readying me for new creations.

and deep, down deep
underneath it all
an unknown core blazes whitely.

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2 thoughts on “Lying Fallow

  1. Only you could end a poem with an adverb and the poem still lingers
    What perfect verbs – recovering, encrusting, thread, ravel and blaze
    never was a patch of soil more celebrated nor understood artistically. 🙂

    • This came from a sentence I’d thought about and held in my head for years. “His beliefs were seasonal and held in a form of crop rotation, however, this winter his head was lying fallow” .
      Knowing I’d never use it in prose, as I don’t have the stamina, I worked it over for this piece instead. I like you liked .

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