Flying Seed

By D. Nurkse

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There is a barrier
that locks me in.
I must endure this sleep
until what seals me off

is burnt, frozen, exposed
to axe-blow, erosion, rain,
noon, twilight, starlight:
then I will flower,

everything in me—
triple-folded leaf
of the female organ
leaf-shoot of the male,
whorled together
like petals in bloom—
will be explained
as if by a voice:

now I must pass
unknown to myself
through the belly and gut
of the northbound sparrow.

This article available online at:

http://www.theatlantic.com/magazine/archive/2005/01/flying-seed/303709/