This is how you will change the world–

water your plant in the morning

though it hasn’t rained in your body

since last November– your hands burn

themselves into seeds. Take care of the dirt.

Call your heart the greatest lover since June.

Open doors of a monastery. Let anyone

in. Changing is simple. Speak to the world–

a baby does not know herself

as a being. Carry sticks. Each fall,

tell the heart it will be different

this time. Winter and our bones will still

be bones. But loved. Light-surrounded.

Darkness cloaks so we can see her

spring across the field, though we know

she’s dying, we hope for what is good.

A burial brings water to the plant–

twisting baby underneath an oak.


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