Ceinwen Haydon II


And it fell open on the ground,
a knifed pomegranate, split,
spilling its fruit’s seed,
scarlet amid tart purple juice.
The trouble is
the bejewelled fruit does
not answer the question
explicitly or obliquely,
it forms its own
justification in good words
that tell ingenuous lies.

Passion for fairness and
deliverance of the same
is not easily achieved.
Brothers and sister,
speak to each other
before blood dyes the ground.