The Barrens

In the barrens

Nothing grows

But silence.

Roots can't find

Their way

Through crusted earth,

Skin so thinned

It's thick with armour -

Spring buds locked beneath

The invisible, impassable,

Where no sun or rain

Can find them.

The arctic tundra,

Quiet, desolate,

beautifully barren.

My womb is barren

Also, where In the dark

things grow unreserved.

Fighting their way through

Thick, obstinate walls with

Corkscrew determination.

No seeds no fish no buds 

It mothers and feeds

And imagines beauty.