The seed

I wanted to paint

the night sky for you, to bring it

into our house, to remind us

never to be small; never to forget

to trust the rhythms

that conceal the stars,

only to reveal them again the next night

whether we see them or not.

And instead I have brought you

this seed, which I painted

on a quiet afternoon, when it seemed

as if my juices

had shrivelled, and the tide

of my desire was going out for good.

Slowly I dipped a brush

into acrylic paint of different colours;

then an index finger only,

creating lines across the fine paper

as if I knew where I was going.

Let it be so, then: I bring you

the medicine of this small, dark seed

which came about in an instant

when I was listening for something else.

I think it whispers that something

will survive: some spark

from the great fire

that will burn on when you and I and it

have completed our last transformation.

 - Jacques Coetzee