Early in the day I go to the garden
near the sea, a tangle of tall
grasses and broad leaves. In a moment of agony
the earth has revealed her iron blood
beneath murmured benedictions of green.
I lift my eyes to the hills,
sky and sea and earth dissolving.
Light soaks my bones, the roots of this
brief flickering life; uncertain
stones holding my soft body, wondering:
if, maybe, possibly
if, perhaps, it could be
if light reaches out, if sound learns to see
if I plant seeds here, in this place, and
if the rains come.