Sitting in the studio today,
With my mind on the natural solitude,
The natural introspection,
That winter brings.
A seed appears to me on the page,
Not as a symbol for spring, I think,
Not asking me to imagine the plant it might grow into,
Or making any indication of expansion whatsoever.
The seed is present in the world as it is,
A thing in the ground,
Small layered compact inner life,
Just spending its winter being a seed.
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