Dear Bursaria,

I’m sorry I killed so many of you today.

I started gently

Then he said

‘They regrow better when you slash them’

Just doing my job

I believe in you

I know how it feels

I know so little

Chipped you back to stumps

To get to the weeds

Woody, canopy-climbing, seeding multitudes

Even into your splendid thorny thickets they push themselves

Crowding out your blossoms and rattling fruits

Kerwon

I’m sorry

This is temporary

Has to be or how else can I live with this mulched destruction

Taste bitter zinc-sweat dripping from under visor

Blinding mid-morning sun

I apologise to each one

If I pause, listen carefully

I imagine I can hear you

Can feel your whispered, spiky presence in my mind

Perhaps not all lies

Your thorns are imbedded in me,

Engulfed by my skin

I see you everywhere

Can never forget your face

Even if you hate me

I wait to be sent back here,

Want to watch you rise up and dominate this light gap

All mornos I lie prone

Arms aching from my penance

Nothing like what you must feel

But I am you. Somehow

I feel it too.