In the North

In the North
By Mary Willis

Pines are dark pitchers
hollowing the light,
pouring out crows
like cut glass shadows.

What happens now
to the precious seed?

I could cry, I recall
all the rich gardens downsized
to poor plots.

I would stay inside, make do
with dead-zero daydreams

except a perennial pulses
underneath my ribs

and desire is
the only seed that grows
as well in the north
as anywhere on earth.

---

Mary Willis
Poet

Photography by Zeus Ramirez