Potting Shed (Poetry)

There, in the darkness, soil-wrapped
a dream-seed had waited to sprout
tight-packed as it fed on night rain
and swelled the idea to break out.

An exotic, improbable shoot
fanciful, planted at whim
it forced its shell slowly apart
and reached for the light pooling dim.

It grows there - pale tendril and root
winds itself into my brain
unfeasible thoughts fill my mind
with jungle and drive me insane

as leaves thrust their way through the glass
thorns guard every stem twisting strange
buds burst to peculiar blooms
that flaunt their wild pollen exchange.

They're spreading - escaping en masse -
fresh seedheads are floating away
catching the breath from my throat
and drifting - creatively fey.

My potting shed's fecund with dreams
that have no botanical form
I imagine the soil dark and deep
and water each child as it's born.