I have taken to taking baths in the middle of the day

Just so I can touch my body,

squeeze my thighs and my cheeks like a baby’s

and play in the warm water,

and watch the oil droplets roll over my skin,

mixing words of love with the steam.

 

I have taken to singing to the roses

as I give the deadheads a trim,

asking them things I’ve always wanted to know

finding myself bashful, blushing at their beauty

embarrassed I’ve never slowed enough before

to let it be so.

 

I’ve taken to crawling under the lemon tree

to pluck the zesty low globules,

dirt on my knees,

carrying my bounty in my skirt

for my soul to squeeze.

 

I have taken to harvesting only the veg I’ll eat today,

though I’m entirely squirreline

I relinquish control to meet the sublime,

to delight in the ordinariness

of these green teachers

of the art of eating life

and letting go.

 

I have taken to dancing at dusk for the sheep

in the back field

in an outrageously sexy

and feckless display

with my farm boots pressing

poo to earth

face purpled with joy and evening glory.

 

I have taken to feeling the dark set in,

closing the curtains on the screaming countrysilence

with nothing to switch on to switch off the feelings

so that I might sit, stew and drink in this dense aloneness

this thick nothing

that, eventually, connects me with

everything.

 

I have taken to collecting dead things

bumble bees, moths, cicada shells, and birds

to bury, burn, or behold

to release as I wait without hope

for what the future might bring

still, I keep the dream burning

as all dreamers must do —

so life can pour through

as liquid gold.