Planting
The farmers, the gardeners of the world
Bend to the earth on every continent
Seeds in hand, holes in the soil like
A hungry mouth dark with mystery.
Touch her with a word from the page, she smiles.
Touch her with a hand at night
A million things might happen
Like a young shoot climbing from the ground
Who might become
A field, a shade forest, a bit of soup
On a complicated evening
When she needs it most.
Copyright © Bryan Thao Worra | Year Posted 2016
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