Fall Back Into That Unsuspecting Lap Poem by Mark Heathcote

When the dew bids me, no more it can fall.
Or-it-can-rise-up-off the mossy floor
when it binds my flowers, with yours no more
here to the ends of the world—coverall.
When sinews ache, beyond all they can take
hope to god, they break. Spring-all the way back,
cannonball a trainspotting anorak.
I promise you all I won't bellyache.
Fall back into that unsuspecting lap
and not be grateful for all that has been,
oh, there hasn't been a flower so mean,
it hasn't blossomed from some seed to tap-
root its way heavenwards and blossom
like this world does in dewdrops so awesome.