Very nice short form poem! It's interesting that the title is "St Fiacres" after the patron saint of gardeners (usually depicted with a spade in hand), while the first central image in the poem is of a graveyard. The last line then resonates with Fiacre's associations with life, cultivation, and healing (not only physical but perhaps also spiritual). But we don’t see the tree being watered—it waits for water in the midst of a burial ground. And it's interesting too that the narrator is traveling along a grave(l) road (one thinks of the French "fiacres" that travel along the road to the hospice at Saint Fiacre, Seine-et-Marne). Will water come? Will the destination (if there is one in such a journey) be reached?
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