FRUITS OF THE EARTH
Night decides to take over the conversation.
The shadows stir, the spiders begin
Their spinning toward the dawn.
Spring begins its work toward those
Seasons it will never see. The exuberance
of buds and bright flowers, the dazed
Spinning of elm seeds through the green
Air. Soon there will be no room upon
The ground for all will be growing.
We do not wait. We dig the soil, find
The seeds of plants we want to see
In particular, begin the garden rituals.
We too become fruits of the earth,
Laboring toward the harvest, privileged
To entertain the dance through all the seasons.
The morning excuses itself from the night.
The night pales before her great might,
Calls the dark spider back to itself
And bides until the story changes once again.