For you
I have turned everything over
like a field under the plow,
when the hard crust of winter is
milled into the future with last year’s leaves,
returning to the heart of the earth
while a new loam
ripples to life in its wake,
smelling of springtimes and
calling the crows to feast and follow.
In this growing season
I have turned everything over for you
and now, furrowed,
I wait the planting.
