ELINOR PUSCHKAREVICH
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SEED

Bird who plants seeds,
you grow large with the wind,
then you hide yourself amongst the roots
and bleed.
You take up the seeds that have been sown badly;
you warm them up;
you cover the universe
with trembling, spores, buds
you strip the moss from my belly
- this sap that stirs up my existence --
With your wing you shelter the territory
of the mature trees.