Gerard Fanning

Four Poems


I keep my eye on the love life
of these solemn winter crowns

and when light becomes various,
return to the garden to root and mulch

their tubers, like blousy beasts
of kale and reed. Raking and turning

the sulky pits, I nose them out like truffles,
with their albino breath and stage fright

bending over to force the pace,
cover their face with a mottled drape

or cosy strip of carpet or cardboard.
For this medicinal false fruit, I’m all

out of breath, as the puck’s shoot
muscles into a chill that sharpens

and liquorish stems, purplish swelled
reach out to be harvested

by my host of migrant shepherds
in a pre-dawn candlelight.






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