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.