Land-Owner's Prayer
Lord, these oak woods
are more beautiful than anything
they’ve built with stucco
and wrought-iron
on the hill’s opposing side.
I’d love to live here, Lord,
among your grasses. But I wince
at every shovel-stroke. I know
the first fence circumscribes
the grace of summer-tide.
Who keeps a gate on Nature?
The frogs that swell their song
at evening, or the breeze in pines?
Every night, Earth twists
beneath us. Lord, with us abide.
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