HANDS INTO THE EARTH

I take the spade
The handle knows neglect
Gray wood
One side polished by a touch
That stopped returning
First cut
The earth resists my weight
Second
A white underground cord snaps
With the sound of thread
Pulled through heavy cloth
By the fifth
My breath has found the rhythm

Put both palms into the work
Mud will enter every line
Grip the thorn close to its origin
Pull slowly
The ground has held it for years
It will leave with stones
Worms
Pieces of the path
You hoped to preserve
Repair has an appetite
Feed it effort
The first tendril comes free
With a wet, animal sound
For a moment
The whole desert leans
Then sunlight reaches
One square of ground

Fingers into the earth
Let the black soil mark me
I am cutting room for seepage
Where the marsh forgot the sea
Scars will mark the clearing
Some taproots lie beyond my strength
Still, one open piece of heaven
Falls through

I wrap my fist around a thorn
And pull until the glove tears
Blood beads at the thumb
The pain is clean enough
To keep me present
At the edge of the marsh
I drive the spade sideways
Opening a narrow throat
Through the bank
Brown runoff hesitates
Then moves
Frogs scatter into reeds
The surface breaks its green skin
And remembers sky
A palm arrives with rope
Another brings a lamp
At the cedar, someone binds the wound
Stones leave the new channel
From grip to fingers
The gate stands open behind us
No one takes the spade from me
Their presence changes
What one body can endure

Fingers into the earth
Let the black soil mark me
I am cutting room for seepage
Where the marsh forgot the sea
Scars will mark the clearing
Some taproots lie beyond my strength
Still, one open piece of heaven
Falls through

I plant the wounded flower
Beside the opened stream
Only the sound of drainage
The day remains gray
Its stem leans in the changed air
That is enough
For this hour
I press the soil around it
With the heel of my torn touch

Teeth on the thorn
Knees in the mud
Fire for the seeds
That wait to spread
Cut the crown
Drain the rainfall
Leave good earth
For the living

Two palms into the earth
The black soil knows me
Channel runs through the old hatred
Carrying silt toward the sea
Scars remain across the clearing
The largest tendrils still twist below
Yet through this hard-won opening
Morning
Touches growth
One white flower
Then three
Along the channel
Butterflies open
Their rain-heavy wings

My peace is a hill at daybreak
Still wet
Full of stumps
I stand there breathing
Here
I could learn
To live here