Give It Out

Where does it all come from?

Ice gives out the cool from its core;
threads of water give up their liquid freedom
to the gasping thirsty air.

At some point the cycle stops mid-pedal.

The soup-stirrer, carrot-chopper,
bread-baker cries into her stock
‘I cannot give any more!’

The baby fat now sucked to nothing,
eaten off her skewer bones, milk
appearing like a fountain on a sand dune.

Where does it all come from?

Ancient nutrients drunk from dusty earth
by roots like ropes which, pulling upwards,
crack some day with the tension.

Between the carbon dioxide inbreath and
green generous pores outspiring life
the leaves quietly pause for thought.

Where does it all come from?

Place one invisible egg in a pre-heated oven
Add several million invisible seeds
Bake well, and get a new person.

It doesn’t add up, this mathematics.
The real is coaxed in every moment from
musty under-stairs closets, brought to light.

It doesn’t add up, this Karim.
It quenches every parched mouth and
never gets drunk dry.

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