Pulsing the pastures

Pulsing the pastures
the spring rod I hold
all mental and yet still
bowing and straightening
to some rhythm 'neath the tilth
feet treading to the senescence of grass
each step a sonar signal
to the earthworm and her burrowing kind
root twist and earth crumble
a fungus drifts through the soil
and I had seen only dirt before
dead cake and the murder of loam
the parched remains of a chemistry experiment
this ruined laboratory of a field.


IMAGE: Lucketts (2005) by Jo March available from Tabretts.