Set Free, ed. J. Sietzma-Dickson, Poetica Christi Press Anthology, 2004
In harvesting goodbye from you,
I baled my hatred to acid green trestles,
Tense cords of desire that held slipknots
On the slipshod scattered chaff of our affair.
On alternate Tuesdays at three I went talking,
Stroking the grains of truth,
Armed now with arms full of
Seeds for the taking.
Where was your sweat when my
Labour was breaking me?
Where you stood--
--rooted and rotting and still.
That was the fall of the land,
Our last summer,
You brooded. I planted.
You fumed while I raked.
To irrigate blame, we swelled
Slight into felony
Puddles jumped dams and we drowned in our pride.
I nurtured my grudges.
You fed your resentment.
We fertilised our nascent love to death in fields of cold.