I plow the seasons for you,
plant wisdom deep below the dirt,
giving strength beyond the need:

I find you still, in the mirror;
when you walk in and answer
the footsteps through mornings

strange cult
of learning, through wood
and steel of fires
burning the dead earth

black. You hear and answer
for the flowers
of a winter for the spring.
a morning for the midnight,
or moonlight for the sun.
You sleep

passed the doorway
and I talk through
dreams —‘Yes, you can…’

So quiet, in the garden
where her rhythm has no beat