by Terese Coe
In loss is meaning,
in emptiness, seed,
in ruin, a mirror
of wholeness and deed.
A seed reserves need
and comes to birth
in the presence of water
and sunlight and earth.
And well we may wonder
when there is no birth
when there is no water
what life has been worth.
Terese Coe’s poems and translations have appeared in 32 Poems, Alaska Quarterly Review, The Cincinnati Review, New American Writing, Ploughshares, Poetry, Threepenny Review, Agenda, The Moth, New Walk Magazine, New Writing Scotland, Poetry Review, the TLS, The Stinging Fly, and many other publications and anthologies. Her latest collection Shot Silk was nominated for The Poets Prize of 2017.
