Gorse by Ros Barber

Here, gorse slanders the countryside:
fierce with hypodermics and fleshed
the bright yellow of a bruise’s edge,
its sharp, shelterless heart no break
for the wind, and all spiked it is

but oh, so yellow, the yellow
of birdsong bursting from the chest
and the yellow of all of spring, all year
as it flowers and flowers, all year
still yellow, raging yellow like a love

that won’t die down, a love that splits
you apart and finds you, mollusc-soft
in your mouth, the you that was always
afraid before but wanted to flower, and flower,
relentlessly yellow, unstoppable.

— Ros Barber