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Down behind the greenhouse there's a compost pile knee-high
That the black flies like to frequent
Where the gardeners stop breathing to pass by

The wet and wilt the mold and silt
Are warm and soft and dying to embrace
A kiss of life from death: that slow and steady rot

In some secret courtyard where the ivy measures miles
On the backside of forever
Where the only form of breathing comes in sighs

You're standing still, your hope and guilt
Have brought you here. You're trying not to waste
Your memories of light: that slow and steady rot

A step begets a promise of a second wind
An end begets an honour to begin again
Our golden hour's a friend
And growing now means loving where we've been

Deep within the compost lies a soggy heart at rest
Something's stirring in the chambers
The moss and mud and microbes know it best

A breath, a sigh, and brought to life
From refuse and a green and tender grace
Young roots now holding in that slow and steady

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