A Flower and Rock
In a field yellow sun wrestled with itself
turning somersaults, squeezing between
its own knees, then crowning green each
leaf and seed, each like Him that nestled
and slept.
A Winter dawn and Spring mid-day.
One seed twisting and torn, began to sing
while a crusted rock seemed to have
Was that whispered voice blinded in bright
new vision, seeking a harmony of gathering,
Fall yet not even close?
Was solemn regard kept loyal, cloaked
in dark inside? Where would sun not
Soil gave up what was needed then,
gave reason to thirst, a thousand drops
like stories of far continents, and carried
here in old men's hair.
The blossom hidden within the seed
began singing too, rejoice, it said.
And a rock sat silently, speaking no more,
no less, than it always had, a reverence
of season's child-like passage.
With this silent mouth,
I am this bed for you.
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