big calloused hands
work this plot of earth
winding the heavy wheels
of cart and wagon
laden with boulder and root
then wood and steel
and seed then green
with wit and will
and heft of muscled sweat
the ruddy stink of it
is sweet and hard earned
where knowledge of loam
and insect and oxen
in the fertile frenzy
of summer’s heat
yields fullness and
searing visceral content
if this year’s loam
is richer than the last
we are winning
the magnificence
of the earth
and can sing in harmony
with this sphere
and these spirits
and our hearts
made whole
and we shall then leaven
and bake the bread
and salt it
and drink the cool clear water
and relax in the harmonious shade
and listen to the slow joyous
beating of hearts
