beneath what used to be
I imagine    an impressive tree
Split down its bole it
has sprouted green leaves    that will be rustling
way into September
At its base lying athwart the clearing
is the severed partThe colour of brown has weathered to near-grey
and the footfall of walkers has covered
the wood with a layer of dust & yet
the part that has fallen among the spikenard
and hungry shrubs surges out of deathThe raspberries feed on its breath
and beetles thrive in the slurry middle
where the bole rots

Listen    there is nothing as exhilarating
as the feeling of life coming into you

Though people
look suspiciously
stand and listen    do not go anywhere

we have been the workers
just the workers

In the Congo    one man had a land
almost eighty times
the size of Belgium    as his estate

We have been property

When I talk about reclaiming time
I’m just thinking about my body
standing in the middle of this woodland
and
doing nothing    nothing