It’s UK National Poetry Day.
TERRA FIRMA
A quiet man working a hillside crop
stops to turn a stone. Bending
to part the lips of earth, he induces
a birth of milky shoots, blind
but certain of their path, caught
early in their slow locomotion
towards the rumour of light.
He rises and, unburdened, wind-drawn,
strikes palm against palm. Dust
returns to source; he steps away,
climbing the long parabola home,
scratched black against a setting sun.
Mud clogs his boots across
the threshold. Earth and man
lodge together.
11:20:11 PM 
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