To spin the wind
Taller and paler and even more slender
than Elves or Eloi, a long line of ladies
(each lifted one-legged) loops bald yellow hills.
Lizards and bandicoots scrabble in dust;
hawks hunt the dry sky. High-whirling arms
spin wind into power, weave lightning from air
for us all, for the land, for the sky.
Lamb’s Ears (Stachys byzantina)
There’s a new plant
in the garden, a suede-soft
groundcover mounding silver
underneath the purple fountain
of New Zealand flax.
It wasn’t there last night
must have grown
like a mushroom
silent in the dark.
It looks a lot like Stachys,
but even silkier to touch.
If you sneak close enough
to stroke the ears
you’ll hear it purr.