A refugee of time, I wander knee deep over and through used broken things, scanning left to right, pulling myself forward, between crumbling pillars as the debris begins to thin out. Stepping lightly now over splintered boards, dirt, old mattresses. I have survived, drawn to the orange-red horizon, longing to sink my hands into the glowing fruit floating ripely there, to read with hungry fingers Demeter’s code; the mystery of the seeds that refresh the world.
Categories: poem by janet crawford trenchard
Eos: The Creative Context 
It’s like call and response from the universe.
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♥ Says it all. Thanks.
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