after Seamus Heaney
makes me think of pomme,
apple, eden, pomme de terre, myth
in earth, God caked in mud and root.
Spading at the clay, Prometheus became
the first poet. Bite with the mouth bones
he gave you and feel like Heaney. Potato digging
is heaven---resurrection, collection, storage-- heaven
is death---absorption, amalgamation, collapse onto a lover---
a relief. Completion. My thought apple
is picked, furrows harvested.
The work is corked and