A photo, a poem

Cockspur Bush

I am lived. I am died.
I was two-leafed three times, and grazed,
but then I was stemmed and multiplied,
sharp-thorned and caned, nested and raised,
earth-salt by sun-sugar. I was innerly sung
by thrushes who need fear no eyed skin thing.
Finched, ant-run, flowered, I am given the years
in now fewer berries, now more of sling
out over directions of luscious dung.
Of water crankshaft, of gases the gears
my shape is cattle-pruned to a crown spread sprung
above the starve-gut instinct to make prairies
of everywhere. My thorns are stuck with caries
of mice and rank lizards by the butcher bird.
Inches in, baby seed-screamers get supplied.
I am lived and died in, vine woven, multiplied.

Les Murray

Thank so much to Kelly Angard for permission to use her photo, Botanica Obscura 2. The dark richness and dainty flower sit in oppostion to the glaring imagery of dust, heat and the prickly cockspur bush.
 I also have to thank Kelly for introducing me to the poetry of Theodore Roethke, who I will introduce you to very soon. It is always such a pleasure to talk to poetry lovers and share the words around.