My hands are the hands
of a gardener
fresh with soil, sunlight, and rain
with the breath of flowers
and
kisses of
moisture
I sprinkle seeds over the earth
like a holy man sprinkles sacred water
The soil: grateful for my blessing
The birds: grateful for this small fare
I chant incantations and listen
for the growth of roots
for the rustle of sprouts
pastel green and tender, spiritual
and uplifting
I rain dance and praise the sky
hold my hands to the air
forming a small bowl
for the rain to fill
to be the stimulus, the birthmother
the liquid that makes
the garden whole
I ask the sun for waves
of light, the breeze
for strength and circulation
the fertilizer for sparkling minerals
that infuse the roots, stems and fruit
with vitality
On my knees I dig
with bare hands into the soil:
my hands like intimate dancers
lead the prolific weeds
to another existence, to their rebirth
My hands are the hands
of a gardener
fresh with soil, sunlight and rain.
----------------------------------------------------
from my fourth book: 'The Translator' (2015)
©dah / dahlusion 2015 all rights reserved
"Gardener" was first published in
'Stone Voices Magazine'
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