Do we not sow our seeds into once fallow soil with hope for what could be born?
Anxious with the knowing of what has come before, with its wet roots outstretched.
With its tender off-shoots of joy and sorrow.
Sending themselves upwards and outwards.
Against all odds into an unknown sun.
And we return to nourish the composted darkness with stars pulled from the skies of our dreams.
Falling to our knees in all our clarity and rage.
Asking how both these things both belong here?
Allowing both these things to belong here.