You must start

You musn’t fear beginnings,

            so small and feeble

I vomit, and my hands are full of seeds

            and so I stumble toward

            a fallow field that might accept them

The ground is frozen and staid

            not unwilling, just unbroken

Tears pool in my eyes as I take up the sharp tool

            that might loosen the hard plain of my heart

and hope that the drops are enough

to sprout these dumb and dead lumps I have wretched

            from an unseen depth in me

and pray to some great goose

to hold me in its wing

as I wait for spring