do not underestimate
the space i will claim

unkempt, bane of the tidy gardener
i am a besom broom
to sweep the sky

by moonlight i sweep,
catching dreams

silver, sage and
rust, my clusters come
lately
each one an offering
a minute portal, fringed with a secret gold

i am the magician and the hag
as above, so below, you say. so it is
the tough root runners of your psyche
claiming the the warm, black earth.