pastling

No not again this return has too much substance
The reasonableness oppresses me and disturbs the ease
I fear to know what I have known
To recollect the girth burdens this ox
Blind-sight over blindness, that tinged of understanding
A faint trickle of the possible but no solidity
I fear the harvest with my yoke swollen shoulders
The plantings long forgotten and trampled… emerging
What causes them this return?
A few tears shed in winter can hold no such strength
A slight rest on the earth can offer no real warmth
The seeds able to fend me off
It seems the choice has gone beyond myself
The seedlings have me now