To love, like war, leaves behind
devastations in seed,
exuberant fields,
solitudes that grow
wild and unusual.

Who will venture now
across those fallow furrows
spattered with iron and death?
Abandonment works in silence
like a prodigious humus.
There grow the most uncertain flowers,
and no one will come in to gather them.
Their health is beyond life;
their colours, beyond sight;
their scents, in the ineffable.

Flowers in Minefields, p. 10