Cut Heart Lichen - A Poem, in recognition of wonder.

A poem.  Free written today, in a style that is not usually mine, while resting between lectures in Mad Studies at Northumbria University.  I am immensely blessed to be able to attend the course.

The picnic table has small lichen patches.  Will they be allowed to thrive until such time as the wood rots or breaks? 

In cut grass the daisies don't bloom.
In cut minds compassion bleeds out and is lost.
In cut services there is weeping.
In cut hair there is a way to see past my eyes.
In cut trees the bird cannot nest.
In cut skin is wounding.
In cut skin the surgeon saves a life.
In cutting remarks we have the power of life and death.

Firefly red, the branches hold out empty hands.
Vivacious crimson, uncut, the flame stem will not be ashamed,defiance before regulation brickwork.

In cut heart I bow in tears to her perseverance.
Bow in eye cut tears, unrevealed buds, whispers of potential, intergalactic silence.
And the trees, like people, amaze me.