achenial planets,
yet un-spawned,
suspended, seemingly strangled,
by an indurate umbilical bind,
sway in the breath of this nascent spring
forsaken fossilised baubles,
from a Christmas you’d rather not
be reminded of

and while their skin breathes our dirt
I write my words on their
parchment leaves and rips
of litter, to leave
scattered for the rats
who live in the shade,
to read
at their leisure